


Militat Omnis Amans (Every Lover Wages A War)

by sycamoretree



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Profanity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the Hobbit RPF kink meme: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=19525868#t19525868</p><p>Aidan is a celebrated gladiator in a Roman city. Once he was a free man, but now he lives for fights that bring rewards. Dean has suffered from slavery and isn't prone to trusting anyone. But then Dean is a newly bought body slave for the villa where Aidan lives. One day their paths meet and their 'barbaric wildness' is rekindled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captivity

**130 AD (During reign of Emperor Hadrian)**

_His father clasped his arm hard and yanked him back from the doorway of their simple round home with skin from game stretched over the wooden structure to keep the cold and autumn rain out and the warmth inside._

_Aidan glared at his father with the impatience of a young man but he stayed quiet, if not to honour his father, then to show respect to the chieftain of their tribe._

_“My only son and heir, heed your steps and make plans. Trust me, even when united our folk cannot defeat the Romans. Not now. Wait until winter when the days are darker and their guards fewer.”_

_Aidan looked sternly into his father’s serious brown eyes, felt his coarse but warm hand around his wrist where the blue war pattern would surely become smeared now._

_“Father, for too long have we allowed the red pigs to feast on the fruits of our land, to massacre villages down to the last child, to steal away our women and younglings. No more. We climb the wall tonight either with or without your blessing. Our warriors will show them that no stone of Hadrian will stand against the entire Britannia reclaiming their land!”_

_Aidan was very disappointed by his father’s lack of fight. It was as if the old man believed the Roman filth would leave if the tribes avoided the soldiers and fled more and more northwards into the barren mountains. As if the empire wouldn’t attempt to expand its borders and claim more land for the province on the island!_

_Aidan closed his eyes to prevent being swayed by his father’s pleading, worried gaze and tugged his arm free. His painting on the arm was almost ruined but he figured the spiky blue lines on his face and bulging chest made up for it._

_He was ready to go to his last battle and push the Legatus and his army back into the cold sea to free his homeland._

_Aidan never saw his father again._

*** _  
_

_“Push him down on the ground! I want to see his worth,” the commander ordered with a cruel grin and Dean gasped when one soldier punched him in the belly which made the blond man bow his body but then another man kicked his shin and Dean landed flat on the muddy ground in a northern forest to the roar of the crowd of dirty onlookers._

_He received another kick in his side and he found himself crying out in pain and struggling to get up and run away._

_“Keep the dog down!” a voice jeered and air was forced out of Dean when three men in full armour threw themselves on him and pressed him down into the wet dirt. Their ice-cold breastplates dug into Dean’s spine, legs, and hips and despite his efforts to wriggle free, he was trapped._

_A familiar boot stepped in front of him and Dean furiously stared up at the Roman bastard who was his captor._

_“Feisty still, Gorman?” the man taunted, using the foul name he had come up with as a mix of Dean’s Germanic heritage and the gore Dean had witnessed when the man slaughtered his entire family before his eyes._

_“May our gods punish you,” Dean ground out, his face red from the pressure on his back that made breathing harder. The man smiled but his eyes were evil._

_“When we return to Florentia I will sell you as a body slave. Now, rest calmly because I shall examine you.”_

_Confused by his words and foreign terms, Dean was helpless when his captor strolled off from view but the blond man certainly noticed when his tunic was wrenched up and his breeches cut open with a knife to leave his romp bared._

_“What? What…?” he gasped feebly only to be met by snickers from the crowd. Then a pair of hands held his arse parted and something unyielding pressed against his shithole. Horrified, Dean jerked his hips and earned himself a numbing blow to the temple. He identified the pressure as a finger and his stomach clenched in sudden fear. He heard pants, then an exhale and then that finger forced itself inside his taut hole._

_Dean howled in agony and his bottom burned with piercing flames and he wanted the finger out. But it stayed in side and through the haze, Dean heard a falsely sorrowful voice._

_“My condolences, friends. This brat is an untouched one. You cannot have him, for he is more valuable to me now.”_

_Was that his captor speaking? Dean mumbled incoherently and grimaced when he tasted blood in his mouth. He hadn’t noticed when he bit his tongue. A more gleeful string or words followed and the terrible finger remained inside him._

_“However, this Germanic dog has more holes to accommodate you. Take his mouth. I will make his barbaric ass more… appealing to a civilized public.”_

_Dean didn’t understand what that foreign voice implied. Not even when the first cock was revealed in front of his face and a small knife was brought to the delicate hair around his throbbing hole. The finger was still there._

_This was the first time Dean was probed._

*** _  
_

Once the cohort consisting of 480 soldiers marched through the sturdy gates of the busy city of Florentia on a chilly winter's day, some of the soldiers were relieved of duty in order to return to their houses and be with their family for a few years after being away for just as long.

But in the front, a pitiful creature stumbled behind the commander’s horse with a rope tying him to the saddle. The barbarian was dirty through and through with rags for clothes. Only rusty blood between cakes of mud added some colour to his sullen shape.

His eyes were downcast in submission even as he entered the first city in his life. His curly, golden waves had turned into brown, straight tangles that repelled the onlookers. His tender lips that used to form a clever smirk were now chapped and broken from inattentiveness of desperate soldiers who used his mouth without care all the way down from Germania.

The captured young man was exhausted and didn’t notice when the horse stopped. He bumped his bowed head into its rear and the horse whinnied harshly and the rider turned in his saddle and raised his hand.

“Witless, useless slave! Be careful with my horse!” he yelled and Dean flinched even before the whip cracked over his shoulder. He fell to his knees on the stone street and his bound hands pressed against the abused area.

The commander dismounted and marched towards him and with his gloved hand he gripped Dean’s chin and forced his face up.

“By Jupiter’s cock, I’m glad to be home so I can get rid of you, whorish waste!” the soldier sneered and then added with his terrifying smile that made Dean whimper in his sleep and cower at day, “I will take you to the slave market now, get you sold off to patrician. Count yourself lucky for your virginity, Gorman.  You will see yourself in a rich and, well, maybe not so nice, but a villa nevertheless. You will dedicate your entire being to pleasuring the local nobility. I’m convinced a whore like you will find the task easy. I can’t hurt your face now when you are so close to being sold, but there are other ways to punish you for hurting my horse.”

Dean blinked tiredly at the man before the man pursed his lips and spat in his face and proceeded to, still with a grip on Dean’s face, slap him so his jaw stung and his head felt oddly light. Dean was almost looking forward to reaching the market, if only to part from this cruel beast.

However, even when he had been delivered and taken to a room with other chained slaves from distant parts of the great empire who waited for the auction to begin, the commander entered the building as if he owned it; red cloak fluttering behind his furred boots. The commander said his farewell to the Germanic man by groping Dean’s balls and stroking a finger against his hole one last time.

“Perhaps I’ll pay a visit to your Dominus one day and finally conquer every bit of you,” the man whispered hotly in Dean’s ear and Dean shuddered.

That night at the villa of his first dominus, his precious locks were cleaned, then shaved off his scalp and sold to a wig-maker so a Roman lady could finally have blond tresses. It was also his first dominus who possessively claimed him as a body slave the very first night of his arrival.

Dean cried and screamed. He was hit.

The other house slaves who visited him the next morning in dominus' chamber scolded him, slapped him and pinched him for dragging in a soft bed instead of working even as Dean’s limbs protested against movements.

He limped badly that day and when he fibally had a moment to clean himself with Roman oil instead of the fresh water from a Germanic brook, he saw the bruises on his hips, chest, thighs, and on his sore backside. No wonder he found it painful to walk.

But it got easier after a few months when some of the slaves warmed up to the shy, quiet newcomer. He was ordered to follow a male tutor who would teach him how to be a proper body slave and use his body to entice and pleasure men and women who would want him.Thankfully dominus' never called for him again at that time so Dean had a chance to educate himself in peace.

Dean learned many things about his body; acts that seemed impossible and filthy and yet they brought him pleasure sometimes.

The tutor said to him that he would have to become used to and read the intentions of those who desired him to please them. Some would want him pliant and lustful. Some would require a squealing and playful boy. Or a reluctant, struggling slave, a brutalized man with bleeding wounds, a sure, confident man taking and conquering a body, him not talking, or only licking, or touching, or in positions that were bound to bring his taker pleasure.

Dean was told how to take care of his own body, rinse it, shave it from hair, oil his body until the pale, weathered skin turned softer and smoother, how to wear jewelry, sway his hips when he walked, get his cock to stiffen no matter the circumstances but to hold release until permitted to finish, and make his eyes dance to attract attention from a lover.

Dean was an ardent student, for he was beaten less and got more to eat if he learned and obeyed. He also found to his shame that the more he learned, the happier he became in his locked cell at night, when he explored his own body and coaxed it into ecstasy. He had never fathomed that such strange acts could make him feel so good.

When he one day on a rug on the floor applied his new skills on one female and one male slave as a trial, over-watched by his dominus and the tutor reclined on couches, Dean felt a fluttering in his belly. Not from being watched, for he was accustomed to that, but from the hands of the male moving over him, warm and oiled hands palming his cock, his balls, and at last wriggling fingers inside his hole.

The act was more enticing with the male than the woman he had licked and then lain with. Dean was used to stretching, touching, and playing with his hole now and it hurt not so much as the first two men he had felt there, both forcing fingers or a cock inside him.

This time Dean guided the other slave down on the rug and positioned himself above him before sinking down onto his straining length. The other man had his eyes fixed on his cock disappearing inside Dean, never meeting Dean’s curious gaze. That made Dean sadder so he sped up his pace to make their connection last no longer than necessary.

He made the man come and upon his dominus’ husky demand, Dean let himself release and stain the man’s belly as he clenched around the softening shaft. The blond man looked up at his tutor who seemed proud and content and the dominus chuckled and tossed two coins in gratitude to the tutor before dismissing the tainted slave and the tutor.

“Well done. You may call yourself a body slave now and receive a collar around your neck and garments,” the rich man said and Dean beamed, happy that he had passed the test and didn’t have to walk around almost naked all the time.

But then his master’s eyes darkened and he waved at Dean to approach. Dean obeyed and that day ended with him splayed on all four on the couch, wincing as a fat cock thrust fast in his already tired body, the sounds of skin slapping skin echoing on the marble around them. '

His owner seemed very enthusiastic about his performance and told him over and over to clench more, to make his hole tighter. Dean did so with gritted teeth as the shaft moved too quickly for his own pleasure, sending ripples of unease through his pelvis and the small of his back.

“D…Dominus,” Dean gasped uncertainly and his master groaned.

“Yes, slave, tighter, tighter, so small and tight for me!”

The next morning, Dean limped again.

His tutor sent him a sad glance but said nothing. Dean’s happiness with his feat the day before had vanished and the collar and clothes didn’t seem so appealing anymore. How had he within a few months been reduced to living for using his body so well he was allowed to wear clothes on his skin, as a faint, pathetic shadow of his own self in his homeland?

Unknowingly, Dean had made a mistake for performing so well.

His unmarried dominus sought out him as bed warmer more often but his taking was never gentle or pleasurable to Dean. The slave had to use all knowledge he had to make himself hard to show his ‘commitment’ and to come when the master said the words.

His master tired of him after barely a year had passed and he had been in Roman captivity for one and a half year.

Apparently Dean’s hole was always loose now and dominus could just as well buy time with a whore to receive the same pleasure. Dominus had said so to the mortified body slave who had tried to clench up to please his master who had taken him several times a day sometimes.

Trained body slaves were only brought back to the slave market if they had failed to please their owner until the point where the master didn’t even see them fit for house duties, serving guests, or to be killed in a last passionate Roman joining.

Ashamed beyond words, Dean shared the pallet and chains with newly arrived slaves from ships; his slightly higher status removed from him. Now that his virginity was exchanged for pleasuring skills, his worth was less and he attracted another kind of buyers. Still rich but more ambitious and less refined.

During the next four years, Dean was passed on from villa to villa, from city to city while being subjected to humiliating acts, used by both dominus and domina sometimes, starving when the villa had to keep the spending to a limit, abused by violent, drunk masters, giggling in Neapolis with a domina who shared a dizzying spice before she demanded he show her how to bring pleasure to an ass.

Her husband walked in when Dean was barely penetrating her stretched hole and the woman’s expression was contorted in concentration on the pleasure rather than the pain, just as Dean had instructed. She avoided death only by quickly screaming and making her husband think Dean had taken her against her will, and claimed a virginity only the husband had ownership over.

It appeared that each time Dean seemed to be safe and happy, something would happen that pushed the cart over and sent him into another spiral of suffering.

That time he was pardoned from death and only had to endure being chained to a wall in the dark cellar and be beaten and taken by every guard dominus owned. They stained him with rotten food, seed, and piss and when Dean hadn’t seen daylight for a long time, his master walked in and informed him he was to be sold again but dominus wanted to leave a permanent mark on him for daring to lay hand on his honourable wife.

Blood streamed down Dean’s dirty face and hit the sand below his bare feet in heavy drops when dominus carved with a dagger the word whore into his scalp. Dean missed his long locks more than ever. At least he had short hair that would cover the scar unless he was shaved again.

He also missed his own name on another human’s lips, for every owner had given him a new Roman name he had to listen to. He had left to no hope that the next villa he would end up in would bring him any happiness at all. The next day he was sold again.


	2. Names

134 AD

“Twenty denarii!”

“We have a new bid, patricians and plebs gathered! Twenty denarii offered by honoured Albinius. Who will bid against him?”

“Thirty denarii!”

“Forty!”

“Forty-five!”

The speaker for the large auction in Neapolis had sharp eyes and pointed his stick on each man who called a new number.

“Forty-five?! By the gods, didn’t we have a most generous summer of harvest from the goddess Ceres? Didn’t you all get more coins in your chests than children in your wives’ bellies?” the man joked with a flabbergasted expression at the low bids. The crowd laughed and some clapped their hands at the entertaining auction.

The man keeping track on the bidders stalked over the pallet and grasped the young man’s bulging right arm, shaking it indicatingly so the simple brown tunic on his body juddered.

“Give me a chance to inform you more of this man’s qualities, please! Strong male, tall, as you obviously can see, a healthy breed with all his teeth there, tireless worker, built for many tasks: laboring, fighting,… pleasuring.”

Some married patrician ladies blushed and hid their faces behind their imported silken shawls and the men chuckled. The speaker crouched down on one knee and patted a broad, muscular thigh which the tunic didn’t cover.

“A powerful creature showered by blessings from the gods, originating from the barbarians in Britannia but tamed in the strongholds of Gaul. He’s only seen a few years with hard labour but never been to any mines or quarries. Only building with wood and hammer. So what do you say now? Young barbarian. Strong and healthy. Virile. Come, come, let’s hear the prize?”

“Thirty denarii!” a man roared gleefully and the crowd fell into laughter as the speaker’s face fell for a moment before he wiped his sweaty forehead and imperiously pointed his stick towards the highest bidder yet.

“If none of you knows how to appreciate the potential of a fine slave like this one, honoured Aemilius will at least know his worth. Now, for forty-five denarii: a strong male. Going once, going twice, s…"

“Ninety denarii!”

The speaker stuttered into muteness and a gasp went through the crowd at the doubled sum before they began to whisper and turn their heads to see who the newest person with the defying sum in the last moment was.

Even Aidan’s interest was kindled and his heart beat fast at the thought that someone was willing to spend so many coins on him. Not that he was flattered: he wasn’t that much of a submissive slave; he still carried his pride if he could, but he knew not whether it was a taunting over-prize for a Britannic man no-one else seemed to appreciate, or a personal statement in some quarrel between two men.

Either way, the white-haired man Aemilius who had offered forty-five denarii was bristling; clearly infuriated that he would lose his intended prospect. The speaker’s eyes settled at last on the bidder and identified him as _Marius Publius Faustus_.

Aidan watched carefully how the speaker’s shoulders slumped when he knew the bid hadn’t been a joke and he would get paid plentiful for Aidan.

“Ninety denarii. Going once, going twice… sold to Faustus! Come and get your _Britannic stallion_!”

The crowd was in uproar, some cheering, others discussing and throwing angered looks at the man who made his way through with a raised head. He was middle-aged with thin, greying hair but slits for eyes that sparkled with activity, a little fat but with a spring in his step and the green robe fluttered around him. Faustus tossed a heavy purse at the speaker and his eyes roved over Aidan, but not strangely, only calculatingly.

Aidan was unlocked from the chains only to have a new one clasped around his neck with a rope that the man’s enormous body guard held onto. The speaker muttered to the man who now apparently owned Aidan, “Gratitude, Faustus. May this one too bring fortune over your house.”

The buyer snorted imperiously at the ingratiating man. “I know very well how high my house will rise when I’ve perfected this man. I have had Britons before.”

***

Everything was explained to Aidan during the walk through the town on a leash like a horse. He was belonging to a lanista, an owner of a gladiator school called a ludus where he would train and obey until he was fit for entering the arena and challenge another gladiator.

His dominus and his wife could be generous if Aidan worked hard and brought coins and honour to the house, but unforgiving if he disobeyed, struggled when he shouldn’t, picked fights with the other slaves in the house, or attempted to escape.

Aidan felt discouraged to find a way out of bonds anyway when he saw the villa. It was located on a hill overlooking the city but still seated where the main road went so the travel down to the busy streets never took too long. On one side of the estate there was no wall containing the slaves. But in its place was a steep abyss that would be fatal if anyone fell down it. Aidan wondered how many people had died there.

He was nudged across a yard with erected wooden structures that didn’t look like anything he had built or seen in Gaul. A large basin filled with sand was there too, and another guard who glared at him.

Aidan turned his head and suddenly wonderful shadow spared his head from the sun. Four years in southern Gaul and then a journey to the heart of Rome may have made his skin constantly bronzed and his long locks blank with sweat, but the heat was something he never grew accustomed to. One advantage though was the milder winters compared to the harsh ones in his homeland.

He was led under a hay roof where the sun only sifted through gently and several tables and benches covered the floor before the wall of the villa. Faustus turned to him and gestured around himself.

“Here is where you will eat, drink, and train upon the sand with guidance of my competent Doctore who has shaped many of my men into champions in the arena. Many were Britons and some even earned their freedom back after serving Rome.”

Aidan couldn’t help but look inquiringly at the man, no, Dominus. It was better to play the part of the obedient slave until he learned how the place functioned and hopefully could find a way out. As if sensing his rebelling thoughts, Dominus remarked, “Try not to flee. Oh yes, I have seen some of your inventive, headstrong tribal folk taking up arms against their masters or finding means to sneak away, only to steal their freedom. I advise you not to, because you are valuable to me and I would hate to harm you.”

The Roman fixed him with a haunting glare. “The last treacherous Celt I owned got to choose which leg to have cut off. That’s how merciful and unforgivable I can be when forced to.”

Aidan shivered for the first time since his capture.

The man tilted his head. “Speak, for I can see you’re eager to voice your opinion. I’m also aware that you can speak my language since you’ve been in Gaul for the last few years.”

Aidan licked his lips and the body guard jerked on the rope so Aidan’s body lurched sideways. “Answer our Dominus,” the guard grunted and Dominus held up a hand.

“Easy, Graham. Don’t damage the goods before I’ve seen what he can accomplish,” he berated and the guard inclined his head.

“Yes, Dominus. Apologies.”

Aidan stared at the large guard and contemplated just how high a status the man had conquered if he didn’t receive a beating from his owner for his mistake. Dominus cleared his throat and nodded at Aidan who remembered he was supposed to say something.

“If I fight as a gladiator, how soon will I reach freedom?” he asked with a low voice but his owner laughed at him nonetheless.

“One step at a time, slave! First you have to earn yourself a place amongst my gladiators, shape your body into a warrior’s and learn from Doctore, win fights and a name for yourself in the arena and finally become champion before the city council and I can even begin to consider giving you a wooden sword. That takes years, and don’t forget the possibility that you will fail and die at some point along the way.”

Aidan took a step forward, Graham’s hand only tugged warningly on the rope this time, and loomed over Dominus whose interested eyes met his brazen ones.

“I _will_ become your best gladiator, Dominus. I submit myself to you and will bring honour to this house like the Celtic champions who preceded me. And I will earn my freedom back.”

Aidan spoke with a certain, truthful voice, his stance rigid and strong like the son of a tribal chieftain and he only lacked the blue painting to scare off the crumbles of doubt in his mind. He was still young, unharmed and strong. He had been a warrior and he could fight well. He would get his freedom back, and it seemed more possible through obedience than escape.

The shorter man blinked, sighed, and clapped him on the shoulder once. “An oath I will hold you to. Now, we have much to prepare. You need a bath and shaving because I will have no lice in my house. _Corinna_! Corinna will cut your hair so you look more Roman, but I believe in keeping your Britannic exterior somewhat. Your chest and beard will be trimmed but still have hair, and your hair will be combed and oiled, maybe with a few braids. You will stand out to the rest of my shaved group of gladiators. That black mane will make you recognizable once in the arena. The man at the auction was right; you really are a Britannic stallion. But for now, I need your name because I usually let my slaves keep their given names. It makes them listen faster when I call.”

“I’m Aidan,” Aidan said and got a clip over his ear by the gruff guard and Aidan sent him a sour glare. “Dominus,” he finished.

Faustus clapped his hands together contentedly. “Good. It’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aidan, but now business calls.  Ah, here she is; our Greek dove. She’ll take care of you. Graham, you can release him now but keep an eye on him and send him to his cell with the other newcomers with a bowl of soup when he's done. He’ll meet the others tomorrow."

Graham bowed, Dominus strolled through a door leading inside the villa, and Aidan exhaled in relief that his owner at least seemed to be sensible and wouldn’t torture him over nothing. Then a short, petite woman stepped up to him and her large eyes took in his shape and Aidan suddenly felt embarrassed for his half-naked and filthy body.

The woman looked lovely, with strands of her dark brown hair pinned up on the crown of her head, pink lips, a clean yellow tunic covering but not concealing the shape of her round breasts, and pretty toes in delicate sandals that probably hadn’t seen the dust of the road outside the ludus.

“Come with me, if you will,” Corinna told him with a soft voice and although Aidan’s urges were awakened by such a lovely woman, her words suggested he had a choice to not walking even with Graham standing behind him!

Aidan rolled his eyes behind her and followed the woman whose smooth back and thighs where unexpectedly exposed to his eyes. Aidan may hate Romans to the guts, but he couldn’t deny they had a way with the design on women’s clothes. He kept staring at her shape, hungry for a woman because he hadn’t shared a bed with one since he was taken from the shores of his homeland.

That is, he was transfixed by Corinna until he was undressed, promptly told by her that she was not to lie with anyone unless her Dominus or Domina commanded it, manhandled by Graham into a too hot bath with scented oils, and lastly scrubbed by Corinna’s surprisingly strong hands until he wrenched away from the agonizing brush the servants probably used on horses normally.

It was a blessing when the disheveled and half-drenched, thus more revealed to Aidan’s glee, woman deemed him clean and got him to lie down on a table so she could shave him. After that affair, and the long day of new experiences, Aidan was exhausted when he was at last presentable to Romans and given a white loincloth before Graham thrust a half-full bowl of soup in his hands.

The guard took him through a corridor and then unlocked a door and pushed him inside like a farmer indifferently tossing a meat-bone to his pack of dogs. For the cell was filled with other gladiator novices.

***

135 AD

One year had passed since Aidan came to Faustus’ villa and summer was again bearing down on him. During that time, he had passed the gladiator test and been branded on the arm with Faustus’ mark. He had fought his way up in the hierarchy of gladiators, survived internal fights, accidents, and twenty fights in the arena with only scratches.

He probably had Doctore to be grateful to for his survival. The trainer in the gladiator school was a bitter, sinewy, and harsh Parthian man leaving his prime and approaching old age, but he had painfully crumbled the old fighting skills Aidan's father had taught him, just like his father had taught him, and so on.

Doctore made Aidan aware that his old ways weren’t that efficient compared to the Roman, at least not in an arena with roman armour and weapons. So Aidan had to start from scratch with a forever sore, straining body, hacking away at the poles that were raised on the yard which he hadn’t comprehended during his first walk into the ludus.

The Celt learned how to use a shield to protect his flanks but also to shove it against an opponent, how to roll to the side in the sand basin and get back up on his feet to avoid a Retarius’ net sailing through the air towards him, intended to trap him under rope.

In the end, his mind and body learned and his shape changed with the constant training. He wore no muscles earned from simply lifting logs or labouring, but from training like a warrior and so, he grew. His arms were strong and unyielding even when his upper arms bulged from strain, his thighs turned firmer and thicker to bear his ever-changing stances and positions on the ground, and his shoulders broadened as he got used to carrying weapons and heavy armour of different kinds until Dominus decided which suited him best for the performances at the games. His back and belly showed how well-trained he was as there were no sign of fat there, only moving and shifting shapes of muscles.

Despite all his accomplishments though, Aidan was currently still considered new but respected by most of the brotherhood of Faustus gladiators. After all, surviving a whole year when other beginners had fallen proved that Aidan was a man to be reckoned with and not easily disposed of in fights.

His obedience, careful studying of fighting techniques, and generally friendly if quiet personality made even Domina Cornelia pleased with her husband’s newest and apparently far too expensive investment. Aidan felt the expectations on him to bring honour and coins to his masters house and when he had been victorious in the arena for the third time without getting himself killed, he was given favours such as salary after the following fights, wine, intimate company, and eventually a cell of his own, small but enough for him and absent a peephole with bars to the corridor, as the cell lay immediately below the villa in the system of rooms, baths and passages there.

It was comforting to know that no guard of gladiator could spy on him in his privacy. Though, Aidan had a small opening high on the wall where inside met outside in the large building. Barred, but open for breezes, giving Aidan a view of stars or clouds in the sky, and which showered his room in sunlight during a few hours early in the mornings and moonlight on clear nights.

He much preferred the natural light anyway to the flickering torchlight that could lighten the room on the other wall, near the sturdy wodden door. It was a good cell and only the true champions had the more generous cells in a row across the yard, parted from the villa. But Aidan aspired to get one of those cells one day. For now he was only below the four eldest and most victorious gladiators in the ludus.

One of those was Taurus, the current champion of Neapolis who proudly wore his title. His most distinguished feature was the meaty upper body with an impressive set of shoulders that had earned him his name and once provoked, Taurus would charge like a furious bull too, in the arena or in the ludus.

Then there was Sergius who was a mad man who laughed wildly every time he fought as if he was only truly happy when he killed people, but he never lost concentration nor was defeated. Aidan wasn’t sure whether he should be afraid or amused by the gleeful but deadly man who could trick others to deem him an indifferent idiot.

Brogan who lived up to his name of terror meant trouble for Aidan. The other Celt in the ludus hated Aidan for earning the name “Britannic Stallion” in the arena and making people forget about him as a skillful Celtic warrior too. Brogan had been lucky to get to keep his hair long just like Aidan, and the older Celt had a mane of red hair which whirled like wildfire when he sparred with Taurus. Out of training or fighting, Brogan was a boasting, loud man who enjoyed his women and wine but often got violent when he indulged in either of the two rewards.

Finally above Aidan stood the Gallic gladiator Ambiorix: a sadistic, sneaky scum who was rumored to have a snake for a father and a cat for a mother. He was pure evil, sowing seeds of anger within the gladiators, starting rumors but never being nearby to be blamed. He enjoyed punishing new recruits and he had spitefully given Aidan his first scar on the leg since arriving to the ludus in a bout of violent training. But Dominus cared little for this as long as Ambiorix remained submissive under Doctore’s orders or brought fortune to the house through spectacular killings in the arena. Ambiorix didn’t disappoint his owner. The Gaul never defeated men in the arena: he slaughtered them until he was covered in guts and blood. Every time. The house slaves disliked him for soiling his armour so much that they had to struggle to get the parts clean.

Then there was Aidan. Steadily growing more famous, with unique hair, a friendly attitude, a little quiet, but just and not easy to fool. Some would deem him suspicious, or a lone wolf. Truth was that beneath the shallow and stern exterior he wore for the brotherhood during the days of hard training, he missed home, his father, and his tribe. He was always on guard here, never resting, forever reminded that he was nothing more than a slave to the Romans. A warm embrace after another victory could only temporarily and poorly chase away that longing and misery.

One year after his arrival to Neapolis had passed and Aidan only lived for his victories that brought him payment and one step closer to the stolen freedom he sought to earn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's FYI: Neapolis is today's Naples, or Napoli. The Roman city was greatly influenced in many ways (language, customs) by its previously Greek culture, which explains the character Corinna as a Greek slave in the villa. She's a local.
> 
> Ceres is the Roman version of Demeter; godess of harvest.
> 
> The Roman names I use really existed, and are taken from the site Behind the Name, though the characters are mine. Look them up if you want to know what the names mean.
> 
> Faustus villa is designed like Batiatus’ ludus in Spartacus for practical reasons.
> 
> For the sneaky gladiator Ambiorix, I’m picturing a more sinister villain than the self-serving, petty, pathetic Ashur in Spartacus. My guy will more resemble T-Bag from Prison Break, both in looks and personality.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this, and thank you for the lovely response to the first chapter! Trust me; you don't want to miss the next chapter...


	3. Reward

Year 135 AD

“A most glorious victory! To take down Bononia’s finest gladiator after only one year in training… I don’t have words.”

Faustus slammed his palms against the surface of his desk and shouted joyfully in his chair.

“Gratitude, Dominus.” Aidan bowed his head and felt the energy from the fight still pumping in his blood after the important victory in a battle between two Roman cities that would bring him closer to the title of champion and after that: freedom. Most of the blood on the armour he still wore had dried or been wiped away by one of Faustus' slaves so to not soil Dominus' office, floor, or scrolls.

Aidan was thankful that he had been given a set of armour that didn't burden him even after a tiring fight in the arena. The tall Celt was dressed in light leather that didn't restrict his movements as opposed to the metal works many of the other gladiators in the ludus chose to purchase for their gained coins.  On the other hand, Aidan's armour didn't offer the same protection against blows, but he was used to being light on his feet and being agile and to use speed to his advantage. Leather reminded him of his warrior garments before he was captured by Romans.

Dominus also thought it strategic to announce Aidan's origin to the audience by making him wear a leather kilt over his subligaria. His sandals were tightly strapped and reached to his knees to protect his legs. His upper body was left naked to display his impressive set of muscles, save for a pauldron that was placed over his right shoulder and covered his arm in pieces of leather like fish scales for protection. The armour was fastened with straps across his chest and over his left shoulder and dug into his back when he swung his sword.

In the arena, Aidan also carried an small oval cetratus shield to hide his torso behind when opponents charged towards him. Dominus had contentedly stated that the cetratus would to a degree make Aidan look not that foreign to the Romans, and enhance his height even when viewed from a distance. It was fortunate that while Aidan was sinewy, he was still slender and could use the shield to completely cover his upper frame when forced to.

Aidan shifted on the spot and slid his fingertips restlessly against the sides of his kilt as his Dominus was praising his recent feat. The gladiator was longing to have a drink and to go to the room downstairs reserved for the gladiators where all the equipment to become clean was kept. He planned to rub perfumed oil all over his body, scrape the grime from his skin with a strigil to leave his skin sweet-scented, and to finally dip his head in the basin with water to clean out the blood and dust from his dark hair.

His body was only a little sore after the fight but his skin was mostly unscratched and he wished to celebrate all night, as was his customary treat.

Finished complementing him, Faustus put his hands behind his head, watched him with amused eyes, and reclined in his seat behind his impressive desk filled with parchment, scrolls, and inked reed-pens.

“What prize will you have this time, Aidan? Coin, food, wine? A girl? A boy?”

Aidan ducked his head in pretended humbleness which always pleased his owner. “I’m not opposed something good to drink and some company this night.”

Faustus raised his brows and teased, “But you have already made your way through my stock of slaves, one at a time, and only once. By Mars, you certainly have the most fickle cock I’ve encountered, except for Jupiter himself, the most salacious of all the gods!”

“I’m favouring variety, I guess, Dominus,” Aidan explained shamelessly with a quick grin before he asked, “So there are no-one new?”

Faustus hesitated for a moment, and then brought his hand to rub at his chin thoughtfully. “I have procured a new boy. A pullus; beautiful like youth itself and trained to be a pleasure-slave. Trouble is I promised my wife he would be mainly under her command, as her personal body-slave. He came here recently and my Cornelia has taught him how to service her and keep her rooms as she instructs. But I could try to make her release the boy from servitude this night…”

Aidan lifted his head and peered at Dominus with interest. If there were no women, he could enjoy male company as well, which he had found out in the ludus when that option was first presented to him. His taste lay in joined warmth and pleasure rather than what was between a man's or a woman's legs.

He smiled thougtfully. “I would appreciate it, Dominus. Tell me, how fair is this boy?”

Faustus scoffed and shrugged. “I’ve barely seen him since the purchase from the slave market a month ago! Cornelia has for all I know kept him sheltered in our rooms. But I believe the boy has bright hair like Apollo himself, shining like the sun. He's taller than me but not a man of your height, well proportioned, fair-skinned. He’s from the North, and in your age.”

Aidan’s desire was lit and he took one step forward. “What name does he go by? Where in the North did he come from?”

Faustus shook his head, amused by his eager gladiator. “I have no more answers, riddled as I am by finances and other important things. You will have to find out yourself. I’ll have him sent to your cell tonight, with wine.”

“You have my gratitude, Dominus,” Aidan replied before he was escorted by a summoned guard back down the stairs and into the area for gladiators in the villa's cellar. He was already planning what to do once this unknown beauty he had yet to taste came to him.

***

A gladiator! A dirty brute who would place his hands upon him this night!

Dean was fuming as he sat astride a stool and polished Domina Cornelia's jewelry with a white rag. For once, he had regained hope that this time, in this villa, everything would change. He would be safe from gropes and brutal fucks. He had after all been there for soon a whole month without Domina ordering him to do anything a body-slave usually did, in his experience.

Instead, the Roman lady had behaved very civilized, treated him kindly but firmly, and only made him dress her aging but still mobile voluptous body in the morning, help her create complex arrangements with her own long, curly, almond brown hair, apply shining cream on her pale skin and keep her room clean. If Dominus and Domina had been blessed with children Dean would most likely had been taking care of their needs as well, but sometimes gods withheld fortunes even from the most privileged Romans.

He shared his duties with two other slaves, female and body-slaves too. Corinna and Nona. They had revealed to him that sometimes they pleasured Dominus or Domina, but those moments were rare. The three of them were high in standard amongst the house slaves; Dean lower than the girls as the newest until he had proven himself to be a good worker, of course.

He was more a Domina’s personal slave than a pure body-slave, but that pleased him immensely after his five years in agony.

But now Dominus had fought with Domina until she sourly snarled at Dean that he would pay visit to a gladiator tonight as a prize for a great victory today. It was obvious that Domina was angry with the decision, and that made Dean at least a little less worried. It must be unusual that Domina’s slaves were brought downstairs to those ferocious monsters.

Not that Dean had seen much of them, cooped up as he had been in the villa, but he had heard their shouts and slamming of weapons from the open doorway leading to the balcony overlooking the yard. The men out there sounded violent and crude.

"Dean, it it time."

Dean looked up from the stainless bracelet and looked with unguarded, wide eyes at Corinna who stood between the parted transparent curtains. Dean fretfully turned his head to the opening in the wall and saw with a lump gathering in his throat how low the sun was placed upon the blue sky. Evening was approaching and with it; his first encounter with a gladiator who expected him to give him pleasure.

Dean forced the thought back in his mind and gently put down the bracelet in the jewelry box, with Cornelia's threat still ringing fresh in his mind. All the jewelry was counted, so if anything was missing after his cleaning, he would find himself absent the hand he stroke himself with.

Dean got up from the stool and brought the rag with him as he left the safety and went to Corinna who slid her arm through his to guide him to the slaves' quarters beside the kitchen.

"It'll be fine. You have submitted to men before, have you not?" Her exotic accent proved her Greek heritage even when born in Neapolis but it lulled Dean all the same and made him less hostile. Instead he felt a blush creep up his cheeks.

"I have. I know well what to do, whatever this gladiator requests of me. I will not disappoint him or Dominus."

Corinna chuckled knowingly and patted his arm as a wave of heat washed over the pair and announced their closeness to the great oven that pestered the slaves during the day if they were in their common cell.

"It isn't you fulfilling your duty I doubt. It is whether you've truly realized what it means to welcome a gladiator into your embrace."

Corinna absently began to pinch Dean's slightly dirty tunic, tutted, and a crease appeared between her brows.

Dean swallowed on the growing lump and stared ahead. "I've had many men of all kinds taking me for years. In the end, everyone is the same, and their cocks always enter some orifice. Why should a gladiator be any different?"

Corinna shook her head and smiled secretly. "You'll be aware of it soon enough. And a body-slave can definitely do worse than have Aidan as the first gladiator. Trust me, Dean; I've shared Aidan's bed some months ago and while I feel nothing more than fond memories of that night, and while he hasn't requested my presence again; he was something else. There are gladiators in this ludus, and then there's Aidan."

Not sure how to interpret her description of the unknown man, Dean decided to let his own instincts tell him later if that gladiator was just like any Roman cock, or not.

***

Corinna and Nona had tittered when they readied him for his first encounter with a gladiator. They had said that this Aidan from the province of Britannia was mindful of his bedwarmers, entertaining, and very good at giving pleasure as well as receiving it. Dean was beginning to grasp how many of Faustus' slaves Aidan had asked for as rewards after victories in the arena. It seemed he would meet a very talented fighter, and maybe a very talented lover.

Apparently Aidan had been with all but everyone in the villa, in the servants’ line that was. Girls or boys, either was fine by him. But no matter how highly the body-slaves had spoken of the gladiator, Dean remained resentful and miserable, and maybe a little afraid beneath his irritated but resigned exterior.

Currently he was carrying a full urn with wine and two metal cups and watching a guard’s mantle wave before him as he was led through the labyrinth of corridors downstairs. Dean doubted he would be able to find his way back on his own in the new area if Domina wouldn't send another guard to escort him in the morning.

He was dressed like nothing he had ever beheld before, but he still felt exposed with much of naked skin destined to be viewed and used. He wore delicate sandals that resembled Corinna's clean ones and that had several straps over his feet and around his ankles, which spoke of fortune enough to afford shoes with decorative leather rather than strictly practical and cheap shoes that only had the necessary number of straps to keep the sandal on the wearer's foot.

White Egyptian linen was draped around his waist like a true shendyt from the southern province surrounding the Nile. The garment was kept at his hips with the assistance of a belt and reached to the middle of his thighs. Nona had kindly told him how the fabric blended with and complimented his pale skin he had gotten after years of staying mostly inside villas.

Finally, a heavy, blank, broad copper necklace expanded around his neck and had been locked with a key only Domina carried so no-one could remove it from him manually unless his head was wrenched off. Gold was too much for a slave like him to wear, especially for a meeting with a common gladiator, but even the copper jewelry wouldn’t be stolen now.

His chest, face, and legs were shaved from every speck of hair and oiled so to gleam in the faint light from torches that were the only things that helped his sight in the dark cellar when it was night and only darkness came from the openings in the walls here and there. At least it was cooler so close to the earth compared to his usual cot beside the kitchen upstairs.

Dean tried to walk normally when he and the silent guard passed closed doors, unused to the slick feeling between his buttocks after so long without anyone taking him. He had in private prepared himself with oil as he had been taught many years ago and now the oil in the quickly stretched cavern felt strange. The knowledge that he soon would be accepting a man's shaft inside himself again made Dean falter a little in his steps.

Would the man who was to bed him be civil or wild and violent like so many Romans? Dean didn't even know whether his body would be appealing to the man, and he was far too conscious of his faint but lingering bruises from the last owner under the shendyt and some few on his back, the occasional scar here and there, and the one which he would rather not think about at all.

He knew he remained a bit skinny from years of malnourishment and maltreatment. He just hoped in his heart that the gladiator would not be angered by his slim body with ribs and hipbones awfully visible. Some men's taste were deeply fixed and they could barely tolerate a pleasure-slave who didn't meet their standards.

Suddenly the guard came to a halt, and Dean was taken from his concerns and looked around. They had arrived at the end of a passage and only a solid wooden door stood out from the clay walls surrounding them. At least the door lacked a shutter or a barred peephole so Dean wouldn't be displayed to or heard by other gladiators should they wander past this cell. Small blessings from otherwise absent gods who cared little for Dean's misery.

The stern guard nudged Dean in front of him and against the door. "It's your visit the Celt expects."

The larger man spoke gruffly with a bored tone. Dean would find no mercy or favours from him. Dread gathered in the body-slave's gut when he realized the door was being unlocked by the accompanying guard who then stepped aside without opening it.

Dean took a deep breath, felt fear spread like poison in his veins, and pushed open the unlocked door with his shoulder, mindful of his burden of wine.

***

Silence ruled in the cell when Dean entered and stopped on the sand as soon as he had passed the door. His eyes flitted fast over the room that was sparsely equipped. A lit torch rested in its holder on the wall beside the door, a shelf on another wall contained various but few things such as blankets, items wrapped in leather and some dried fruit and nuts. Ahead of him, a barred opening high on the wall confirmed that night had arrived.

Below that opening, a dark creature sat with his whole, almost naked body on a narrow bed and with his back to the wall, completely turned towards Dean. Dean's heart stuttered in alarm. He found dark eyes amongst the blackness which gave way to light only when the flame from the torch flickered in a certain way. The body-slave and the gladiator continued to stare at each other mutely while the door was shut behind Dean and the key was rattling when the guard locked the door to prevent escape from either of the men that night.

Dean felt a lot like a prey being locked in a cage with its predator who was seizing him up with hunger and desire in his eyes.

Once the sounds had ended, the slouched man sitting across the bed flashed Dean a white row of teeth in the middle of short, black stubble as he broke into a wide smile. Dean stood rock-still and awaited the gladiator’s next move.

“You arrive to me like Bacchus himself, God of wine and indulgences,” this Aidan grinned and his bright gaze swept hungrily over Dean's body. Then the Celt tilted his head and added pensively, “Or maybe you’re Apollo? A sun god of light and warmth and entertainment?”

Dean's tongue was definitely swelling in his mouth and making it impossible to respond. He wanted to sleep in sweltering heat in the cell next to the kitchen rather than to be stuck here with a man larger and more horny than he.

The gladiator brought up a leg and clasped his hands around his knee. “Tell me your name.”

Dean managed to offer a reply he had often said. “You can choose whatever name you want me to have.” The gladiator didn't seem pleased, but instead snorted.

“I thought Faustus wanted to have every slave go by his or her own name to make obedience easier. Tell me your given name, please.”

Dean was trapped in a snare and gritted his teeth in annoyment at his failure. “Dean.”

“A man of Germania then, if I’m not mistaken.”

Surprised by Aidan's conclusion, Dean was unable to keep his cool exterior and stop his reply. “You’ve heard of my homeland?”

Aidan waved a hand indifferently. “I shared huts with slaves from Germania when I was kept in Gaul. But enough about me. I'm more eager to get to know you better.”

The gladiator began to move in a very agile manner considering he had fought in the arena today. His dark brown eyes sparkled with interest and he shifted forward on the bed until his feet met the floor and he sat with hands planted on the bed's edge. The man had dark hairs all over his front which gave him a somewhat wild and shady demeanour, in Dean’s opinion.

To his amaze, the gladiator was the cleanest man he had ever been fucked by, but on the other hand this man wore some scars, bruises, and minor scratches. His bronzed skin had recently been oiled, his raven hair too and the gleaming fringe pushed back to leave his face exposed. Only a subligaria covered his loins and he didn’t even wear sandals, but the muscles on his body looked very much like clothes, or some sort of armour. This man wasn’t vulnerable even when naked.

Thankfully the gladiator remained seated and spoke calmly so Dean could risk hoping to not be flung against the nearest wall and be taken forcefully. Not that a stranger’s first behaviour would make him lower his guard entirerly; Dean had had his trust broken before by Romans who seemed kind in the beginning.

With reverance on his face, the gladiator was staring up at him, able to inspect Dean when they were closer to each other.

“Your hair is golden and caught in the copper below. You are a vision of the sun.”

Dean pursed his lips, even if the roughness in the Celt's low voice caused a pulse to run through him. No man had ever described him in such a poetic and admiring way. Almost as if he worshipped Dean. He didn’t pay visible attention to the man’s comments though, and instead bent to place the urn and the two cups on the ground before standing at a distance from the man, very businesslike.

But Aidan reached forward and beckoned him closer before getting a hold on Dean's hand and hauling him forward gently. “Come closer, beautiful vision.”

Dean was forced to step forward lest his trip on his face, and his eyes swept over the warm hand holding his, then looked into intense, brown eyes.

“How do you want me?” Dean asked bluntly, with a bored expression but the gladiator seemed ignorant of his intended lover's foul mood.

“Slow down, sun who arrives at dusk. We have all night and I will have you soon, sweet, sweet, honeyed nectar of the gods, rest assure. But first; share wine with me to celebrate my victory.”

Aidan tugged on Dean's hand and made him bump against the bed and promptly sit down on it beside the muscular fighter while Aidan flashed him another gleeful grin and proceeded to lean forward and sweep up the urn and the cups from the ground. Meanwhile, Dean became awfully aware how his shendyt rode up and barely covered his groin. He tactically splayed his damp hands on the exposed thighs.

Expertly, the gladiator unplugged the urn and placed the cups on the hard bed before pouring spicy wine into them and filling them up generously.

Dean observed the crimson drink and wondered why the gladiator chose to share his reward with a slave when he could have the whole urn for himself. But Dean wasn't about to voice that query. If Aidan was so stupid as to waste rich wine, Dean would let him, knowing he probably needed the wine more in order to relax and quench the worry in his belly.

Aidan leaned the urn against the bed's leg and raised his cup. "Drink to my feat, Dean!"

Dean ignored the excited exclaim but grasped the unclaimed cup and raised it as well, barely meeting Aidan's eyes. They drank and the wine rolled on Dean's tongue and was tasty but strong. He took another swig and heard a chuckle.

Aidan dragged a hand through his curly, slick hair and winked. "That's how one celebrates a victory properly. You seem eager to honour my accomplishment and my gift to you." Aidan nodded pointingly at the now half-full  cup and Dean lowered the cup to his lap.

"I hear you fought well today," he emitted in a faintly conversational tone. He had no idea how to talk to a lover who was a slave like him, but who still was going to have Dean as a reward. No Roman had bought him to _speak_ to him. He would prefer to get to the union now instead of waiting and constantly anticipate Aidan's advances.

Aidan tapped his fingers against the metal cup that was dwarfed by his large hands. "I'm alive, am I not? Anyone who leaves the sand upon the arena is a winner. But in case you're after details; no, the audience didn't pardon me because before we got to a tie, I killed my opponent with my sword in his chest and my shield slammed across his head."

Dean shuddered from the gruesome images Aidan's story caused, and gulped. At least Aidan didn't seem completely happy that he had wrenched life from another man. But Dean would be a fool if he forgot that Aidan slayed men and sprayed blood all over himself, the sand, and twitching dying men. But it was hard in that moment to think that this flirting, calm man could be capable of being a raging force. Maybe the wine was blurring Dean's judgment. He never had wine.

***

He lifted his cup to get another mouthful to dull his anxiety with, but forgot his hands' previous purpose to cover his thighs. Aidan seized the opportunity as if he had planned this long ago and his finger inched across the short distance between them until he finally lifted the hand from the bed and started to stroke and pluck at the white hem of Dean's only garment. Dean stiffened instinctively but the suitor didn’t notice. Calloused hands from years of labour and sword in hand scratched Dean's smooth thighs.

Dean took a shuddering breath and ventured a glance at the gladiator beside him who met his gaze with dark eyes. Dean quickly placed his cup of wine between them on the hard bed to avoid dropping it in surprise.

Aidan’s penetrating eyes travelled over Dean’s body until the gladiator suddenly lifted his other hand and grasped Dean’s chin before tilting it up and back; leaving the whole expanse of Dean’s neck exposed.

Dean froze, aware of his vulnerable position, and looked sideways out of the corner of his eye to watch Aidan who also let his other hand slide off his thigh.

Then Aidan moved his unoccupied hand to Dean’s abandoned cup, dipped his fingers in it, and lifted wine-drenched fingertips to Dean’s neck where Aidan smeared the wetness. Dean couldn’t contain the gasp when the heady scent of wine filled his nose and tickling drops began to roll down his skin. Aidan crouched down and leaned in; pressing his feverish lips to the damp spot.

Dean was overwhelmed by the sudden proximity of the other man and his breath hitched when a tongue poked out to lap at the sensitive area. Of course Aidan would manage to find the certain spot that always aroused Dean.

Aidan barely drew back a moment later before he once more had coated his fingers and painted another streak on Dean’s neck, this time near his jawline. Content with his accomplishment, Aidan dove in to seal his mouth over the skin and suck with a sure, unrestrained pace. The feeling was unearthly. It awakened sensations inside Dean’s core when hot kisses contrasted with the cool copper that had chilled his neck earlier. The warmth, the cold, and the wetness caused dull pulses to rush through the body-slave’s veins. Aidan let out a needy moan against him and vibrations went through Dean’s neck.

Even so, Dean still put up a fight; a clear evidence of that was his hands that clasped around useless blanket at his sides. It was preferred to do that instead of showing Aidan just how affected Dean really was by the ministrations to his body.

Becoming too eager to slick and kiss his neck, Aidan hurried to dip his fingers in the wine but when he moved his hand towards the intended destination, heavy drops fell from his fingertips and landed on Dean’s thighs and belly. Some specks of red ended up on the white shendyt. While Aidan failed to notice this, Dean was suddenly worried about repercussions once he returned upstairs.

Dean wrenched his head free from the gladiator’s soft hold and raised his hands to keep the gladiator from advancing until he had spoken.

“Stop! You're staining Domina's Egyptian linen!" he exclaimed.

Aidan shrugged indifferently before leaning in anyway to latch onto Dean’s lobe. Dean could feel how Aidan smiled against his ear when he whispered, "Everyone knows a gladiator is always messy. They'll be expecting a few stains on you come morning. But if you're worried; then take off the skirt."

That wasn’t an option, Dean thought. He was turning dizzy, whether from the wine or Aidan’s closeness.

Aidan pulled back to take in his work while Dean let out an embarrassing noise. The long column of his neck was bared to the sparse light in the cell. Flames from the torch and the reflection in the copper necklace illuminated his neck with a golden beam.

“So pale and smooth and golden; like a pearl that has captured sunrays.”

Aidan’s voice was rough and he didn’t wait long until he dove in again for a wolfish lick. His burning lips were ever moving upwards and nearing Dean’s mouth, where Dean knew the border was between merely rousing want, and imminent fucking. Whenever someone engaged Dean’s mouth, they would soon progress into using him thoroughly one way or another.

Raven curls brushed against him when Aidan made himself familiar with the skin under Dean’s chin. Suddenly a clear whisper reached Dean’s red ears.

“I want you to seduce me now. Show me your skills.”

There it was; the unmistakable request for Dean to pleasure Aidan. Frankly, Dean was a little confused as to why Aidan had let the kisses go on for so long without Dean responding much. After all, one was meant to take pleasure from a body-slave; not give pleasure.

Nevertheless, Aidan’s words made the lump reappear in Dean’s throat. Nausea made him uneasy and he regretted having swallowed so much wine that it filled his otherwise empty stomach. It was time to be used and he dreaded it.

With an experienced motion, Dean turned to Aidan and swung his leg over the gladiator’s thighs and settled astride the strange man’s lap.

The men’s bodies touched and both of them moaned when they pressed together, warm groin to warm groin. Only two layers of linen and wool separated Aidan’s manhood from Dean, the pleasure-slave realized with growing anxiety.

Meanwhile, Aidan closed his eyes and sighed with a blissed-out expression. His hands found Dean’s hips and hugged him there. Dean snaked his arms around Aidan’s neck when Aidan opened his eyes to thin slits. Dean made his eyes flicker coyly over the chiseled face opposite him.

“Do you want to bed me?” Dean asked silently and curled a raven lock around his finger while gently rocking his hips down against the crotch where the other man was certainly beginning to take an interest in him. Aidan's sizeable arousal was jutting up against Dean in its cage of fabric; straining to be buried inside Dean’s arse.

Dean ignored the shudder that threatened to escape him and observed through half-lidded eyes how Aidan’s face was flushed and his eyes ablaze with desire.

“I want you to ride a stallion of Britannia tonight,” Aidan stated huskily.

“Then take me now.”

To Dean’s ears, his plea sounded flat and indifferent whereas the gladiator must have been either oblivious or interpreted his words as a permission rather than a forced yielding.

Immediately, Aidan’s large hands started to roam over his mostly naked body, caress his back, cup his bottom through the shendyt, stroke his sides. Unable to rein in his lust, Aidan thrust up to meet Dean’s rolling hips and he groaned low when his arousal brushed against Dean's warmth.

The Celt missed how Dean flinched, scared of what would come next. One month of respite had been given to him to heal his body before he would be fucked again. But what had he imagined would happen? Did he believe that only because he hadn’t received an order as of yet by Dominus to service anyone, he would be spared from being used? He had been sold as a pleasure-slave and been bought as a pleasure-slave. He was always destined to submit to cocks entering him in some hole.

The lump grew large in his throat and powerfully made his eyes water with impending tears. Dean clenched his jaw but with the wine rolling in his uneasy belly and removing his sense of caution, he let out a small, protesting whimper and started to tremble, and not from desire.

***

Suddenly the gladiator under him stopped lifting his hips against Dean. Aidan’s voice was void of playfulness when he spoke and his hands rested idle on Dean’s hips.

“You don’t want this.”

The statement was quiet and serious. Dean gave him a hearty snicker and squirmed against the gladiator, frightened what his reaction would be if he thought Dean wasn’t aroused as well. And why couldn't he make his limp cock harden to prove his eagerness to participate in the pleasure act?

“Whatever do you mean, my dark steed? And when are you going to bury that horse-cock of yours in me?” he tittered not very convincingly and Aidan sent him a doubting and yet completely sorrowful look.

“Oh, Apollo of my life, you shine not for me,” the dark-haired man mumbled before studying his face.

Aidan’s strong hands suddenly tightened on Dean's sides and kept him from rocking his hips. Dean froze in terror and uncontrolled instincts made him let out a sob. He was going to be beaten. How was his body supposed to heal after a night spent with an unsatisfied gladiator hitting him? 

Aidan raised a hand and some deep fear in Dean made him flinch and duck his head while shutting his eyes, anticipating a blow.

Instead two tender fingertips pressed against his chin and guided his head up. Dean opened his eyes hesitantly and Aidan looked like tragedy impersonated.

“Beautiful Dean. I _never_ take anyone to my bed who isn’t willing, slave or not. Even if somebody is commanded to please me, I wish them to consent too. I thought someone had told you this upstairs. I wish for sincere want, or nothing at all. I am not raping girls and boys like the shit-eating Romans.”

Dean averted his eyes and bowed his head to avoid Aidan’s perhaps dishonest expression that was meant to lull him into a false sense of security. The slave observed mindlessly Aidan’s heaving, hairy chest and his firm abdomen below.

"But... I am your reward," Dean stammered.

Aidan let out a troubled sound which made Dean look up pitifully. Aidan shook his head slowly, at last his whole, honest attention focusing on him.

"No, Dean. A person can never be a reward, or should be treated like one, or traded like an object next to urns and spices! The Romans are wrong to think so. I only bed _people_ who consent to my touch."

“It’s my duty to pleasure you.”

“When joining with me, it isn’t duty but true want that brings me pleasure,” Aidan revealed with unadulterated empathy in his brown eyes before he added, “Precious sunray, you didn’t fail, I’m not angry with you, and you will not be abused.”

Dean blinked at him with tension coiled in his body. He carefully removed his arms from Aidan’s broad shoulders. “You won’t punish me?”

Aidan looked aghast, then he narrowed his eyes.

“Dean, why are you… Who? _What_ happened to you by _who_ that made you expect punishment when I try to promise you that I won't use you against your will tonight?”

“I have no will of my own; I am a body-slave. Besides, you touched me plenty before,” Dean pointed out in a hushed tone as he sagged on Aidan’s lap. The gladiator’s tangible interest had plummeted it would seem, given how the bulge had disappeared in the subligaria.

Aidan bit his swollen, wine-red lip before admitting what he thought was a fallacy from his part.

“Apologies, Dean, for being blinded by my own desire and not noticing your distress earlier. I didn’t see. I shan’t touch you more tonight.”

Aidan’s hands left Dean’s sides and absent their warmth, Dean shivered.

Dejected and not completely trusting the Celt even if he sat motionless, Dean climbed off Aidan’s lap and restlessly straightened his skirt while he backed away in the sand, putting a fair distance between them. Aidan followed him with his gaze.

Dean’s eyes darted in every direction except at the gladiator, and shifted on the spot. What could he do now? Was Aidan sincere or playing a cruel game with him like so many other men in his past?

“I’m... I’m forced to stay here for the night. I’m must please Dominus with my service and not make him indebted to you when you’ve not received your reward. If I call for the guards before dawn they will see that, since I’m not in peril, I’m not used either. Aidan… please don’t speak of this evening to anyone! It would ruin my reputation in Domina’s eyes. If Domina thinks I’m not a good body-slave…”

Dean’s breath hitched and panic filled his limbs at the gloomy consequences awaiting him. Who wanted a body-slave who couldn't stand a body, and a pleasure-slave who failed to pleasure?

But then Aidan stood up and his height and shape took up so much space that Dean closed his mouth. It became obvious to him just how much taller the Celt was. As if conscious of the difference in their sizes, Aidan held out his hands peacefully.

“Before the gods, I promise I will let you return unharmed to your own cell come morning. I humbly ask of you to spend the night in my cell with me, but I won’t have you against your will. Is that acceptable, Dean?”

Dean eyed the crestfallen, almost boyish gladiator incredulously. Gone were the sweet names comparing him to sunlight and what else, and it sounded like Aidan was inviting him to stay in a civilized manner even when both of them were conscious of Dean’s vulnerability and inability to leave.

Aidan scratched his short stubble and gave Dean a pleading look. “Give me a chance to prove to you that I am trustworthy. Take the bed and rest calmly. I’ll be on the ground.”

As if to show the reliability behind his announcement, Aidan stepped aside so he didn’t pose as an obstacle to the bed. The gladiator slowly gestured at a corner and strode towards it before sliding down and leaning his back against the wall.

Dean licked his dry lips nervously and took one step in the direction of the empty bed. Aidan didn’t move.

Dean crossed the cell then and removed the cups before settling down on top of the blanket and glaring at Aidan suspiciously.

Aidan was gathering a handful of sand in his palm, making a fist, then letting grains stream from an opening by his thumb. He was creating a pattern on the ground, as if to pass time and openly showing he was far from being horny or unpredictable.

Dean was exhausted by the long and unpleasant day, and with wine thrown into the mix of fear and feelings of heat, it was too tempting to lie down on his side while facing the cell and the gladiator. He could rest like this, aware of his surroundings but still giving his body a pause.

A mutter startled him slightly. “I’ll let the torch burn so you can see the whole night.”

Aidan nodded at the torch before returning his attention to the sand.

Dean wasn’t sure what to make of this oddly behaving gladiator he had barely shared hours with. Best to stay awake and keep an eye on him; to hold him to his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan and Dean has finally met! Your thoughts on that? And for Jupiter's sake; don't miss the next chapter!
> 
> This chapter's FYI: Bononia is today's Bologna. 
> 
> Pullus means young animal chick and was an affectionate word used for a certain kind of boy noted for his beauty and who was loved by someone in an 'obscene' way, mostly homosexual. Basically a pullus was viewed as a sex object. 
> 
> A slave was never seen as a man or a woman by Romans, instead viewed as a boy or a girl, which is why Dean is spoken of as a boy despite his adult age.
> 
> Aidan has armour like Kit Harrington in Pompeii; with a kilt and a leather pauldron on his shoulder strapped diagonally over his chest which is also displayed on the character Spartacus in season 1 of the show Spartacus: Blood and Sand (just google the people for pictures).


	4. Warmth

Dean moved his lethargic body in discomfort and opened his bleary eyes. The torch had burned out, but a faint moonlight filled the cell with a blue light. Clearly he had woken up in the middle of the night.

Light snores came from the obscurity in a corner. Dean let his eyes sweep over the gladiator’s seated body and the long legs that stretched out in front of him. Then a chill went through Dean and he acknowledged how cold he felt, which most likely had been the reason to why he woke up.

He was unused to sleeping so far from the warm oven in the villa. The cellar with the gladiators might not offer the sweltering heat that stayed in the house-slaves’ dormitory at day, but during the night, Dean slept comfortably upstairs. Not here, though.

After having rubbed his eyes, he sat up on the bed and planted his shoed feet on the sandy floor. He reached behind and picked up the blanket before spreading it across his shivering shoulders. The metal in the copper necklace wasn’t warmed up by his body and it felt like snow whenever it bumped against his collarbones. Below, Dean’s barely mentionable garment around the hips was scarcely keeping the cold at bay.

Dean could have endured a few more hours. But he wanted to ask for Aidan’s presence and maybe be granted some mercy.

“Aidan.”

His whisper was enough to wake the gladiator who stirred and moved his head to assess the situation before relaxing against the wall and blinking tiredly.

“What is it?”

The voice was husky either from sleep or the many cups of wine Aidan had downed but he looked so at ease that Dean became calm himself when he voiced his request.

“Come to me.”

Aidan only stared at him and Dean felt his face burn hotter and he clutched the ends of the blanket and wrapped it tighter around himself. “Please, come to bed, gladiator. I’m cold and need you to lie beside me.”

Aidan looked hesitant but sleepy and thus, easy to wheedle.

“Is this wise, Dean? You shouldn’t feel intimidated by me. I don’t wish to frighten you further.”

Dean rolled his eyes even when Aidan couldn’t perceive that in the darkness.

“If there’s anything that proves that you’re trustworthy, it is if you lie beside me without taking advantage of me.”

The other man’s back was apparently covered in tiny sand grains that rasped against the clay wall when he shifted and pulled his knees up to rest his elbows on them, contemplating Dean. Suddenly Aidan groaned and dragged a hand through his ruffled and gleaming curls, which apparently was a habit of his. A charming habit in Dean’s opinion.

“Sunray, why do you ask this of me when I’m at my weakest? I’ve got an aching body that yearns to stretch out on a bed, my mind is clouded with wine and sleep, and you are such a temptation on my bed.”

Dean swallowed and explained in a hushed tone, “I wish not for you to take me. I only wish to have another warm person next to me and be warmed up. Come here and stay with me.”

The gladiator sighed and flashed him a short, toothy smile. “How can I resist you in any way you’ll have me? Fine, just move over so we can share the bed comfortably.”

Upon the instruction, Dean scooted sideways to make room for Aidan to sit down as well, but when the gladiator approached the bed, he stopped. Dean glanced up at the man and lifted one hand and found Aidan’s hanging hand in the dark. He tugged on it to insist on his conscious invitation and at last Aidan let himself be guided down to sit on the bed.

The two men turned their heads to face each other, and smiled a little awkwardly. Dean let go of the blanket and it pooled at his waist. He chose to spread it out on the bed, making the bed softer and trusting Aidan to keep his part of the deal and warm his uncovered body.

Right then, Aidan seemed to lose his patience of staying immobile, for he proceeded to bend over the bed’s edge and grasp hold of Dean’s legs by the ankles. Before Dean could react, his feet were lifted into Aidan’s lap. His barely covered lap.

“Allow me. Please.”

Aidan asked quietly and Dean’s breath hitched when Aidan’s fingers slid from the smooth skin of his hairless right leg to his foot and began picking at the straps that kept the fine sandal on Dean’s foot. Dean watched as Aidan slowly loosened the straps from their small buckles with nimble hands. Then the Celt discarded the sandal completely and let it fall to the ground at the same time as he lowered his head and kissed the ankle with such tenderness that Dean’s heart stuttered and he swallowed dryly.

Aidan tilted his head sideways and peeked up at Dean before repeating the removal of the other sandal. His lips were soft against the marks the straps had made on Dean’s pale skin.

“There. Now we can both sleep more comfortably,” Aidan declared dreamily and set down his burden on the blanket before unceremoniously pushing Dean down on the bed with a sweeping arm. Aidan followed suite and Dean rolled onto his side, facing the wall this time and hiding his stunned and heated expression. No-one had ever kissed his feet before.

“Will you share your warmth?” Dean requested through a murmur, only to have the other man slotting his body next to him. An arm was thrown around him but the hand rested on the bed and not on his chest, to Dean’s relief. He wasn’t that comfortable with a stranger’s hands upon his body, not if he had a choice and wasn't commanded by a lecherous Roman.

Large kneecaps brushed against his calves; a proof of Aidan's taller form. Aidan held him loosely to not trap him with his strength, but sharing warmth all the same. The proximity enhanced Aidan’s scent in Dean’s nose. A hint of wine, the musk from a sleeping man, and cheap but adequate oil. None of the rancid stench some of Dean’s masters had transferred to his skin when they fucked him.

Suddenly something brushed against Dean’s nape where his locks didn’t reach, and he tensed momentarily.

“You are a dawn of divinity and beauty,” the gladiator whispered into Dean’s nape and it felt like a truth for once in Dean's life. Dean’s body decided to grant him more shivers so he greedily nudged his body even closer against Aidan’s before relaxing even if sleep evaded him. Aidan’s lips left his skin but his nose and forehead buried in the spot instead. Dean found himself relaxing in the heat Aidan provided when he allowed Dean to be wrapped in his arms.

Soon, due to the silence between the two men, snores filled the cell again and Dean lay idle but reluctant to move. Instead he began to consider Aidan’s kind behaviour after the previous incident. To have a man so concerned about his well-being was something Dean had never known before and it gave him a lot to think about.

***

Something prodded Aidan in the shoulder over and over. The gladiator grunted and tightened his arms around the warm thing he held. But no peace came for soon that warm thing squirmed and resumed poking him and Aidan awoke properly and realized it was the beautiful pleasure-slave consciously awaking him in the early hours of the day, given the colourful light from the barred opening on the wall that announced that dawn was slowly approaching.

Aidan shifted like a bear in its pit and noticed a common occurrence had chosen to make itself known when he shared a bed with a striking man. His cock was rapidly stiffening and awakening an arousal in Aidan’s mind and body. Aidan couldn’t help but nudge his crotch further against the slave to seek out the warmth in the round bottom.

“Aidan?”

Aidan blinked and frowned, catching the hitch in the slave’s voice. He should have told the beautiful man he had no intention to take him just because his cock grew hard in his sleep. He became worried that something was wrong with the skittish pleasure-slave. Reluctantly, he angled back his pelvis and grimaced when his cock became disgruntled with the colder air around his subligaria.

“Yes?” he huffed against the downy hair on the alluring nape before him. The man smelled intoxicating with scented oil upon his body.

“What if I want to claim your offer of pleasure now?”

The hushed voice pierced through the last haze of dreams and Aidan lifted his head and rested his weight on his elbow while his other arm turned Dean until he lay on his back so he could gaze into the beauty’s eyes.

He was debating internally whether this was an honest and wonderful request, or some devious trap he was meant to avoid in their game of trust. Slowly with a measured voice, Aidan replied, “You can have anything from me. But I’ll touch you only if you truly ask for it. Believe it or not; I may be a vicious fighter in the arena, but I’m no brute in bed.”

The sweet man turned more onto his side so their bodies almost aligned and Aidan discovered that his expression was heated but calm when he opened his mouth to reply.

“I want to feel your touch and see if you can uphold your reputation. It would be a shame to suffer until after dawn when both of us are in the same state.”

At that moment, when Dean stopped speaking, Aidan felt something hardened behind the white skirt grind against his groin.

“Your lust has awakened like me, then?” Aidan asked with a throaty tone that seemed to affect the flushed man who licked his lips and inadvertently drew Aidan’s eyes to the rosy bows.

“Apparently, but will you do anything about it?” Dean pouted and the look he gave Aidan was daring, demanding, and pleading, all at the same time. Those blue eyes that created a sky for the sun in his hair were illuminated by the faint light from the barred opening. Aidan fought hard to let his hands rest empty on the blanket instead of roaming the plentiful of skin that showed on the slave.

“What will you have of me, honey-hair?” Aidan whispered and leaned down to place light kisses on the upturned shoulder while he kept looking at Dean. The slave shifted and released a silent gasp. His lashes fluttered down.

“Not anything in my arse. I can’t…”

Aidan interjected before the body-slave became too anxious again, “I’ve accomplished plenty of enjoyable acts without entering another. My thoughts are on your pleasure and your choice, Dean. Tell me what to do.”

The man swallowed and clearly struggled to keep his eyes connected to Aidan’s and not duck his head down shyly, which delighted Aidan.

“I… I liked when you slept behind me, pressing warmly against me. You could place your cock between my thighs. And your hands… they’re rough and calloused; not like mine. I want them touching me… my cock.”

Aidan raised his eyebrows at the very elaborative request, but then again, hadn’t Dominus told him that Dean was an experienced pleasure-slave? Even in its innocence, the act the two men would soon indulge in quickly stirred the familiar want in Aidan’s belly, especially since it had been voiced by a soft-spoken beauty who in this moment didn’t pretend to be aroused like before.

It had been a long time since Aidan shared nights with people without releasing his seed inside them, yet Aidan was hard as a rock even before touches had begun. Aidan tilted his head and moved in to nudge his nose against the man’s rosy cheeks to put him at ease.

“Don’t be ashamed for your desires. I asked for them, and I shall grant you them. Wait here, get comfortable.”

***

Almost against his instincts, Aidan shifted away from the man and got up to retrieve a vial of oil on his shelf. Luckily his few possessions there meant it was easy to find what he looked for even in the darkness of the night.

He picked up the vial and shook it, feeling its content swirl inside the miniscule piece of pottery and being enough for this kind of fucking. The raspy sounds of a human moving on a bed sounded in the cell and Aidan couldn’t resist rotating by the shelf and glance back at Dean. The slave lay on his side like before; only he had folded the blanket and placed it by his head like some sort of Roman cushion for their heads. Better to warm each other with touches rather than risk staining the blanket with oil.

Dean was braced on one elbow and had angled his face towards Aidan, carrying wide eyes and a tentative smile. Aidan snorted gently, amused that he had been ogled from behind as he made his way over to the shelf. Then Dean admitted, “I am already oiled.”

The power of his words worked like any god’s, because Aidan felt his knees failing him just for a moment and his hand clenched the vial. His groin pulsed and turned to stone at the thought of Dean’s slick passage and crotch.

“Hold your tongue until I’m safely behind you, or you’ll render a gladiator defeated by words. But I think it can’t hurt to add more and indulge ourselves.”

Aidan spoke hoarsely but smiled to not make the slave feel chastised. Swift on his feet now that he had a clear goal in sight, Aidan returned to stand by the bed. He uncorked the vial, poured liquid into his cupped right hand and put down the vial by the bed’s leg before he began to unfasten the subligaria, ready to slick himself.

The loosened bands were easy to tug from his hips, and once the bands hung freely between his legs, Aidan had but to grasp the hot and slightly damp middle to make it fall from his loins and into his left hand. He tossed the subligaria over Dean so it landed on the bed by the wall. Too many evenings had he carelessly left the garment on the sandy floor and been chafed throughout long days.

His pulsing manhood rose up and cared little about the slight chill in the cell.

Aidan tilted his hand carrying the oil and stroked it against the sensitive and exposed underside to save the liquid from landing on the sand. Then he moved his hand, encircled his shaft and oiled it while stroking up and down leisurely. The top of his cock seemed black from desire in the gloomy cell.

While feeling his aching muscles in his back relax, Aidan let out a long sigh, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back, enjoying the way his cock strained up freely and smeared its own oil on his firm abdomen. A whiff of his own scent met his nostrils and he could practically taste the salty lust his body emanated everywhere. He longed to fuck and this night surprisingly turned out to not be a time when his desire had to be quenched.

Suddenly longing with cock and mind for sweet Dean, Aidan opened his blazing eyes and took in the sight of a slave with a slack jaw and round, anxious eyes.

“You’re blessed by the gods, both in stature and in size.”

Dean’s gaze never strayed from Aidan’s weeping, caressed cock when his confession poured from his mouth. Aidan reached out with his free hand, unable to stop touching himself with Dean’s gaze on him. His fingertips brushed over the unnaturally chiseled form of Dean’s cheek and the Celt wondered how anyone could let this man become slightly too gaunt.

“They call me stallion for my wildness, worldly Apollo, not for my cock. It equals not to the cock of a horse. It can fit anyone, but don’t be afraid; we decided to enjoy thighs tonight, did we not?”

His statement caused Dean to mumble with lowered lids, “I know you don’t have a cock of a monster. I just thought the subligaria of gladiators contained a thicker layer, thus disguising the true possession of a man.”

While not completely able to interpret Dean’s whole answer, Aidan could see the way his pale shoulders were tensing beside his more sober, tentative look.

To honour his own promise to not scare the slave and to hopefully earn his trust, Aidan let go of his slippery manhood and crouched down to come nearer and stay at the same level as Dean so Aidan could look solemnly at his sun.

“First time with a gladiator?”

His question was gently stated, and in his mind he wondered what kind of exaggerating rumours about him in the villa that had met Dean’s ears.

The slave’s teeth grazed his bottom lip and his features turned amazed when he stuttered, “I suppose it is a first. I… I never thought I’d have another first…”

He fell silent before finishing and flashed him a smile. “We better not waste time speaking when we ought to be touching. Come here, Aidan.”

Judging the invitation genuine, Aidan climbed into the bed and eased himself down beside Dean who turned to lie facing the wall. Aidan supposed it was one position for fucking thighs, but he would have preferred a more intimate one with his lover turned towards him, with his smooth leg thrown over Aidan’s hip and Aidan moving his cock into the revealed space of Dean’s crotch, able to thrust against Dean’s cock, his balls, along his cleft, and also drag his cock against an oiled thigh.

But it was Dean’s decision that commanded him this time, so Aidan had to obey and accept the terms.

***

Since the two men lay there, Aidan with his arousal jutting towards the body slave’s arse, and Dean breathing calmly but otherwise not initiating anything, Aidan supposed he would take the first step. After all, he had let Dean know that he preferred to give Dean pleasure this night, and Dean had voiced his desires.

So while steeling himself and the small nervousness that fluttered inside him every time he lay with another, Aidan let his hands that Dean apparently liked run along the smooth back in front of him.

Dean stiffened for a moment before he, if possible, sunk deeper into the bed while Aidan spread his fingers and traced the entire expanse of the upper back.

The Celt grimaced at the ribs that protruded from the skin. The slave was too starved for a healthy man, but a light shone in his eyes and his supple buttocks spoke of measures being taken against the thinness. At least Dean was recovering and being well-fed in Faustus house.

Tempted when his thoughts lingered on the rear below, Aidan moved his knuckles down Dean’s straight spine, towards the small of his back where they danced at the border of the Egyptian linen.

“Can I see you naked and save the skirt from stains?” he whispered against Dean’s fine, downy hair in the nape. He received a short nod and without help, Aidan reached around to locate Dean’s abdomen and unbuckle the belt before Dean lifted his hips to shuffle it down his legs until it ended up beside the subligaria on the bed.

The naked form of Dean was so soft and scented that Aidan couldn’t resist molding his body against the man, sighing when his skin met the last revealed parts of Dean.

“You feel like a bath; warm and soothing me,” Aidan admitted. He rarely enjoyed a thorough soaking in a whole basin. He draped his right arm around the smaller man and this time he pressed his still oiled palm against the shaved chest, and felt the increasing beats of Dean’s inner drum.

Aidan hummed contentedly at the other man’s awakening want and smiled when he noticed the tiny pebbles that spread on Dean’s back. Aidan leaned in and kissed a spot near the nape as he sneaked a glance over Dean’s shoulder to search for the buds. Once he saw their position in the darkness, he moved his hand to the left one first and feverishly ran his fingertips over the naturally small, rounded, and brown nipple.

Dean shifted against him and released a hushed noise, but not one of distress. Aidan grinned and kept attending to the bud, longing to see those nubs hardened and raised when mounting want crested inside the little man. The thought alone had Aidan’s own rosy, larger nipples grow firm and react to the dark curls that whisked against them when Aidan moved. To stimulate them, Aidan pressed his broad chest into Dean’s back.

Dean’s nipple succumbed to his touch quick enough and hardened into a more tangible pearl that Aidan kneaded a while longer before he transferred to the other small pebble that had grown firm on its own. Aidan flicked it with his thumb nail before he soothingly circled it with his pad. Dean’s response came suddenly and intensely. Tremors went through the Germanic man who opened his mouth and released a low groan.

Aidan took the liberty of nuzzling Dean’s ear as he swung back his arm to feel for the vial on the ground. A sorrowful mewl echoed in the cell when Dean apparently disliked the sudden vanished hand on him.

Aidan exhaled by the brightly red lobe and mumbled, “I’ll appease your craving, golden one. Have patience and see your passion meet its match in me.”

Finally Aidan found and picked up the clay vial and propped himself on one arm to pour more oil into his right hand before putting down the vial for the last time. With his free hand, Aidan guided a softly panting but otherwise muted Dean further onto his side and moved in close behind him.

“Lift your leg,” Aidan instructed, and his other hungry palm held up the slender and graceful upper thigh as Dean obediently bent his leg and rested his foot flat near his other knee.

Aidan wasted no time in tipping his brimming hand and cover the pool of fallen oil on Dean’s exposed inner thighs with his bronzed hand. He could distinguish how his hand looked so very dark on the Germanic man’s dove-white skin while he spread the oil and lubricated the shaved, but nevertheless deliciously soft thighs.

Dean let out surprised gasps when Aidan kneaded certain spots or dragged his moistened fingers over the richer, more scented remains of the oil Dean had used on himself.

Aidan felt as if he could remain right in that moment, and keep caressing and oiling his intended lover’s legs. To keep his hand from drifting into territory Dean hadn’t given him permission to roam across, Aidan tilted his head and caught Dean’s definitely glazed look.

Aidan queried softly, “Why do you want this now when you were so terrified before? What changed your mind?”

The body-slave looked nervous but determined when he replied.

“You don’t seem to be the kind of man who harms slaves. And I hear you are good at making sure nobody leaves your bed unsatisfied. I wanted that, too.” the slave stated with conviction and jutted his chin out. Aidan allowed himself a smug grin.

“You find me trustworthy, then?”

Then he lowered his voice into a whish of a northern summer breeze and promised, “I shall not disappoint.”

More boldly and fluently, he made his hand glide over the slick skin and over the sharp hip before he dipped his hand between the front of the quivering thighs and lubricated that side as well. Mostly he wanted to be thorough, but if he were completely honest, he wanted to see Dean’s reaction when he touched the man so close to his cock.

Dean opened the gap between his legs further and Aidan leaned his head over the curved waist and noticed Dean growing in the juncture of his loins. Specks of gold surrounded the swelling length that waggled in the air until it had reached its fullness and was swaying erotically while Aidan still didn’t touch Dean’s member.  Aidan asked curiously about the cut curls of Dean’s groin, maybe because he wanted to hear how wrecked Dean’s voice was becoming.

“What colour do you usually have here?”

The slave made a confused sound before he shook his head as if to clear it and then he replied with a neutral whisper, “Amber or resin.”

Aidan sighed and licked a line from Dean’s arm to his shoulder before he retorted, “You mean more gold. Oh, gratitude to those generous gods for guiding me to you, sun nectar.”

Aidan played a little with the specks that prickled his fingertips. Then, Aidan left Dean’s front alone to torture him a little, and his cock especially, but on the way back to Dean’s thighs, the gladiator’s fingers skimmed over the white globes, only skirting over the thin cleft that hid the pleasure-slave’s wet hole. Not without gritting his teeth, Aidan refrained from invading that crevice but he did slide his other hand from Dean’s increasingly heavier and uncontrolled raised leg and let it fall down to rest on top of the other leg.

“I’ll have you now. Close your legs snugly for me,” he stated before he gripped his firm arousal in one hand, scooted in close behind the other man, and with one hand on Dean’s hipbone for leverage, Aidan pressed his shaft into the slick and heated tunnel that almost felt like the inside of a human’s flesh.

Aidan’s cock smeared more tears of pleasure between the tensing thighs as more and more of its length was surrounded by Dean. Aidan’s breath hitched and he lay down on his side on the bed and rested his forehead against Dean’s back. The slave felt so good and gave him so much pleasure even this way, and finally, Aidan’s inner tension bled out and left him only with desirous thoughts.

Once his own black nest of curls tickled Dean’s bottom, and the whole of Aidan was buried in Dean’s thighs, without reaching the cool air on the other side thanks to Dean kindly crushing his legs together to provide a longer channel for Aidan, they both let their pants even out, as they had begun the act of fucking.

***

“You’re warmer now,” Aidan murmured, wanting to draw this pleasure out even when the light in the cell turned purple with the fleeing night. A clenching hand came up to brush against the hand Aidan had on Dean’s hip, and when Aidan lifted a finger to caress back, Dean snatched it up and pulled on Aidan’s arm until he followed Dean’s movement towards the slave’s groin.

“Touch me here with your hands,” the golden man ordered with a strained tone and upon the request from the man himself, Aidan complied and fondled the previously ignored length and Dean moaned and jerked. The cock was heated in Aidan’s hand, and while he gave it a lot of stroking and fluttering fingers, Dean cried out and his hips surged back and into Aidan’s abdomen.

Whether consciously or not, the slave clamped his legs together more and Aidan had to follow his urges and start to shove his cock in and out the tight space Dean offered.

“Stroke me harder. Please, use your calloused hand on me,” Dean whimpered and he moved against Aidan like any seducing woman and met his thrusts with a wriggling arse and squeezed thighs. Aidan’s lids fluttered close as he held Dean in a stronger grip and gave him powerful strokes at the same time as he increased the pace of his hips.

“Jupiter Almighty, I knew you would be divine, sweet honey-man,” he groaned and proceeded to gasp out lewd words only the throes of intimate passion could wrench from him.

“Such slick, soft thighs for me. Can you feel me? How hard and large I am for you; moving in your scorching heat? Want you so much, have wanted you since you stepped through the door. Is my hand pleasing you? You feel full of seed waiting to burst onto my hand. Will you soil my rough hand with your silken come, Dean?”

The slave bowed his head and his hand came up to reach over his shoulder and bury in Aidan’s hair, searching for a steadying pillar.

“You speak such… _words_ , gladiator. Please have mercy and pleasure me. Give me pleasure with your hand. I need it,” the body-slave keened and rocked against the Celt. Aidan molded his body and favoured short but fast pounds into the welcoming flesh, both agonized and thrilled by the husky plea in his ear and the fingers tugging on his locks and nails scratching his scalp.

Though unable to contain his guttural moans, Aidan gathered all his inner stamina, both to prolong the reward he had been given by both Dominus and Dean, as well as to demonstrate his skills as a lover. A quick glance at his damp and moving body confirmed that his strength showed in the protruding and veined muscles along his arms and on his belly that grinded into the curve of the pleasure-slave’s lower back.

With a familiar pulsing in his core foreboding a release of desire, Aidan tilted his pelvis until he could was angling his thrusts against the body-slave’s balls, stretch of skin behind, and the tantalizing hole. He merely rutted against the most inner area of Dean, but it was enough to have a significant impact on the other man.

Violent tremors suddenly pierced the slave before his hand shot to his cock that relished Aidan's ministrations. Dean's slender hand covered Aidan's and followed his pace.

"It's close. I'll... I'll..."

Dean's high-strung warning was interrupted by a labored whine before he coiled into himself and unconsciously pushed his bottom harshly against Aidan.

A wordless cry followed when Dean twitched and spilled a warm cascade onto the bed and their hands to the rhythm of the sure strokes. With heated eyes, Aidan saw how some of the seed trickled from the tip and landed on Dean’s lower thigh and he moaned in anguished pleasure at the thought of Dean’s essence sliding between his writhing thighs and slickening Aidan further.

Dean kept his hold on Aidan’s hand circling his softening length even when the raised hand fell from Aidan's hair. Dean panted for breath but barely after his release, his body turned incredibly supple. The softening of muscles instead of the earlier tensed arousal was the thing that spurred Aidan on to reach his own completion.

In a few hard thrusts, he erupted between his limber thighs and brought another stuttered gasp from Dean when the warmth hit his inner thighs.

Aidan muffled his triumphant moan by attaching his mouth on a shoulder blade. His hips slammed against Dean and his wet hand let go of Dean’s soiled, flaccid manhood to wrap possessively around the slave’s chest.

Aidan jostled Dean so violently, or maybe it was Dean who jostled Aidan, that Dean’s chin bumped repeatedly into the rattling bronze necklace when they rode out their raging release, Aidan being in the center of the storm and Dean overcoming the most intense part of it. The two men were together from wriggling soles against ankles, to hand clasping hand, to Aidan’s lips, teeth, tongue and breath dragging against Dean’s shivering back.

In the end, Aidan rode out the waves of excitement by rocking slowly against the body-slave and fondly nibbling the mouthful of skin he had between his lips. Dean’s back was damp from sweat and tasted like fish from the sea.

Delirious from the release and from momentarily feeling his burden of grief lessen on his shoulders, Aidan inhaled deeply and planted a soft kiss on the area he had turned purple. He felt like a free man again, enjoying what ripe fruits life had to offer.

Upon hearing a faint keen, Aidan let his emptied manhood slip from the wet thighs. Aidan raised himself on one elbow and tossed his head to the side to bring his long errant curls away from his eyes. He palmed Dean’s hip and angled him a little forward to take a look at his body in the brighter light.

With a tightening chest and heating ears, Aidan’s dark eyes took in the sight of Dean rubbing his legs together because of the sticky stain between his thighs. His romp was bare and presented and the teasing line that dipped between the roundly shaped buttocks where he could spy the flush shade of two balls made the Celt hum appreciatively. Had Aidan possessed the stamina of gods, he wouldn’t have hesitated on returning to the nice tunnel in the middle of the thighs and again pleasure Dean. At least the erotic sight would sustain him for a while.

***

However it seemed like the slave didn’t share his restful mood, for he soon patted Aidan’s wrist on his chest and wriggled away his ember-warm body from Aidan.

“Dawn is here. The guard will come for me soon.”

Aidan grimaced at the notion of the time, but the slave spoke the truth; a bright light that was growing stronger poured into the cell already and chased away the shadows of the night. Aidan rolled onto his back and reluctantly let his hand slide from Dean's chest.

He thought with delight that his lover would take the route over his broad body to climb off the bed, but the slave modestly scooted down to the foot of the bed and picked up his single garment on the way. Aidan raised his arms and placed them under his head to be able to look at the beauty in the morning light. The pale hue of Dean's back stretched when Dean bent down and put his feet through the shendyt.

The slave rose and Aidan’s heart sang when he studied the sticky smear below the roundness of the globes. He let his eyes travel up and down the exposed man as Dean pulled up the thankfully clean shendyt and secured it with the belt around his hips. The gladiator’s mark of their fucking shone stark against the white skin and Aidan decided against informing Dean of its presence. He wanted his lover, just like he wanted each slave that came to his bed, to wear it as a memory of Aidan’s accomplishments in bed.

Dean leaned sideways, still with his back to Aidan, and retrieved his sandals before sitting on the bed to put them on. Aidan found himself more hesitant in the unforgiving light of day, after a day and night with bruises and wine in abundance, to address Dean with his sweet words. The gift of a poet was difficult to summon in the morning, especially with a lover who appeared to have secluded himself like a clam again.

Aidan continued to observe him, and it was the close scrutiny with real light aiding his activity that made him discover a cluster of marks on his lover’s back. Aidan felt his belly tighten, and not from hunger for a morning meal, for he recognized healing bruises well by now.

But the soft and sweet Dean had a lot of them despite not engaging in violent training and fighting. Without making a sound, Aidan sat up and counted the brown and yellow bruises that were only visible in direct sunlight. They were many, and in different sizes.

“Someone has been careless with you,” Aidan mumbled with reproach in his tone. How could anyone hurt such a timid and lovely creature? Was it the same people who had taught Dean to expect punishment at the slightest sign of disobedience?

The slave flinched and spun, losing the healthy colour on his cheeks. Aidan forehead creased in response until Dean stammered, “Not in this house. I haven’t been beaten by the hand of Dominus or Domina. Apologies for the scars if they sicken you. My last owner marred me but they are fading.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have let go of you because of some bruises and scars if I had noticed them during the night,” Aidan acknowledged shamelessly but added, cautious of his own aching bruises from the fight yesterday, “I didn’t hurt you by pressing into them, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Dean’s voice was suddenly clipped, and did Aidan detect the dying of that spark in the blue eyes?

But Dean didn’t give him more time to ponder this as the slave wrapped his arms around himself and walked across the cell. The rattle of the necklace made a racket in Aidan’s poor head when Dean wandered over to the shelf, clearly searching for something.

Aidan grunted, “It will be quicker and quieter if you but ask me what you are looking for, so I can guide your hand.”

Dean turned his head and his lips were kept in a thin line and his eyes carried not the softness Aidan had witnessed before.

“Don’t you have any water here?”

Aidan felt lazy and disgruntled with his protesting, aching body. He gestured down with a sweeping arm.

“There’s some wine left if you’re thirsty, but if you’re looking for water to cleanse your thighs with, I have none of that luxury. You have to wait until you get upstairs.”

Dean nodded and he clasped his hands together and rubbed them anxiously. His blue eyes that Aidan preferred to have on him diverted to the door. A sudden urge had Aidan abandon his usual nonchalant attitude towards a used lover.

“Gratitude for permitting me to seek pleasure with you. It was an agreeable blessing after our previous fallacy.”

The slave met his gaze briefly before he snorted and emitted, “I found you trustworthy in the heat of embracing after cups of wine and promises of release. I’m not certain my sentiments are the same in daylight yet. But I _am_ grateful for your ministrations.”

Aidan sat up, suddenly more awake and longing for an approving smile on the man’s face again. If he had failed to earn a lover’s complete trust, it was a strange occurrence that didn’t sit well with the Celt. For all that Dean wasn’t clingy and falling in love with him after one night like many other slaves, Aidan disliked the return of the skittish, doubting creature in his cell. A creature who would soon be parting from him and only to be seen gods know when.

They both jerked when the sounds from outside the door were those only a heavily armed guard made. Aidan allowed himself to smile a little and make them part as friends rather than foes or strangers.

“Go Dean; sun god of mine, when the night flees and the dawn returns. May the sun shine on you this day and make your hair golden.”

Dean remarked dryly but with flushed cheeks, “You must be the most blasphemous man in Neapolis for comparing me to a god.”

His incredulous voice set fire to a need in Aidan’s core and if the guard wasn’t rattling with the key outside, he would have let himself be entranced once more by the vision of the beautiful man.

“But maybe you are blessed by Apollo himself then, because I can’t deny the brilliance in you,” Aidan told Dean with brazen honesty and the body-slave gave him a long, silent look before the door was opened and Dean stepped out. The guard gave Aidan a grunt in greeting before pulling the door close and locking it, which would leave the gladiator a few more hours before he was fetched for training in the yard.

Aidan sank down on the bed and tucked the folded blanket under his head. The fucking he usually chose for reward after winning in the arena had managed to chase away the torment of all the things he had lost since he was captured by Romans. Bedding another human was, however deceptively brief, a way of escaping the thoughts of the poor bastard whose life he had taken in the arena recently, of his father who had to cope without his son, of his freedom that was forbidden even if treats and pleasures were there to distract him from the bitter truth. But to lose himself with a lover emptied him of such anguish and left a shell of a poetic and carefree, smiling young man.

Aidan looked at the sky through the bars and frowned when his thoughts strayed to the latest conquest in his bed. The bed had cooled, but Dean’s scent, memories of his aiding hand around Aidan’s that caressed his hard arousal, his warmth Aidan helped him regain; they all filled the emptiness inside Aidan with something tangible. Something that spoke only of a golden-haired god walking amongst humans.

Aidan traced his lips with a dry tongue. He didn’t even have the taste of Dean’s lips on his mouth. One time was enough for Dean to unknowingly kindle a deep longing in Aidan for another night, yet it wasn’t enough for the gladiator to feel truly sated like he had felt before when house-slaves left his cell.

Dean was different, and being both curious and mystified by the often short-spoken but sometimes very open slave, Aidan realized that he was drawn to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest fic sex scene including foreplay and afterplay in a cell ever? But at least contact has been established, and it was just casual sex, wasn’t it??? In this Roman environment, it’s easy to have sex but it’s harder to nurture feelings or develop a relationship, which our heroes will discover. The next chapter will feature far more characters, and introduce several intrigues á la Ancient Rome, so enjoy the long sex scene while it lasts. 
> 
> Just wondering; could you consider another person’s POV while observing the two main characters just for a moment, or should I keep shifting between only Aidan and Dean?  
> Lastly; while Dean completely consented to this kind of sex, he is still haunted by his previous suffering. How this affects Aidan and Dean will be something I will show you in the future chapters, so see you there! 
> 
> This chapter’s FYI: Intercrural intercourse was a common occurance in Ancient Greece, even between men, so I guess it happened in Rome, and some sources agree with me. It was considered less “degrading” for the "receptive" man to engage in intercrural sex instead of anal penetration according to Romans.


	5. Water

Dean followed in the guard’s wake, hardly more conscious this morning than the night before of the route through the cellar of the gladiators.

He was clenching his teeth when the flaking remains of Aidan’s release itched on his thighs for each step he took. He had been a fool for letting his heart’s yearning speak and ask for pleasure. Well, he was paying for his ignorance now.

Instead of warmth, and confidence that the gladiator wouldn’t seek to take more from him, Dean had let lust and longing after an imaginative kindness towards him lead his actions into inviting Aidan to lay with him.

He must have given his need for another human away and showed his weakness to a stranger who might not yet have raised his hand against Dean, but who nevertheless must have seen the vulnerability in Dean’s sorry state on a cold bed.

That was an advantage of knowledge that this Aidan now possessed, and Dean didn’t like it. He should have endured the chill and waited out the night for dawn to come.

To throw himself at a man and ask for his touch; the thought made Dean’s empty stomach turn, even if a small portion of his head felt sated and at ease after the pleasuring orgasm Aidan had given him.

Dean shook his head and smoothed down the creases on the shendyt as the guard plucked with his keys to find the one that would unlock the gate that separated the gladiator’s domain from the wine cellar and the stair that led to the upper floor in the villa.

The climbing of the stairs went easy considering he hadn’t accepted Aidan into his body, but his legs were heavy to lift anyway, and the sandals drummed in a slow rhythm on the steps.

Dean had seen Aidan’s truer face in the unforgiving light of morning when no wine dazed Dean’s observation or softened the gladiator’s behaviour. After having detected Dean’s faint bruises on his back, the Celt had withdrawn his warm smiles and gentle voice. It always came down to a breaking point in the favour that all men aimed towards Dean.

Some were aroused by his Northern features until they discovered he was lacking between his legs. Others ravaged him until he bled and couldn’t contain the whimpers which suddenly displeased them. Dean had lost Aidan’s approval at the sight of his marred, ugly back, even if the bruises were fading.

After that discovery, Dean had been treated like a dirtied wash-cloth by the promptly dismissive gladiator.

Dean kept his eyes lowered and saw the line where the dusty stone of the stairs changed into black squares of marble. The border between the laboring gladiators and the villa of Faustus and his wife Cornelia was as clear as the change in Aidan. Dean began to understand that he had been treated just like any other slave that had come to Aidan’s bed before him. Welcomed and treasured for a few hours, but it was all an act from the passionate and fickle gladiator until dawn arrived and he changed into a nonchalant creature.

None of the things the Celt had called Dean, no matter how lyrical, were true. Dean would have to add this to his storage of experience and learn from it, but the realization still stung, because for a few, bitterly agreeable hours Dean had found the notorious fighter intriguing and kind with his odd consideration for Dean’s wellbeing and pleasure.

The guard halted and smoothly stepped out of the way as he pinched one side of the fluttering red curtain that divided the hall from the triclinium where Dominus and Domina dined with guests reclined on couches, and lifted it for Dean to step through. Dean nodded without looking at the guard who had delivered him safely from downstairs. He trotted inside and headed towards the doorway across the dining room where Domina’s chamber was.

During this last moment of peace of his own, Dean halted to make his appearance respectable before meeting Domina. He shrugged his tensing shoulders and raised his chin strongly. No more thoughts wasted on a barbaric gladiator today.

Besides, Dean knew with absolute certainty that after a man had relieved himself on his body, there was nothing else to expect but getting dressed. That was why he had been quick about hiding his stained legs behind the somewhat clean shendyt. And then the Celt had turned into a lazy, uninterested maggot; just as limp as his flaccid cock, just like any man who had used Dean over the years!

Dean was the fool here for having been swayed and flattered by poetry while Aidan touched him. The only reason for his mistake must be his often ignored instincts searching for some amount of comfort by another human, even if Dean’s trust only extended to letting Aidan have his pleasure with him after he had asked for it, and to gain some for himself.

Dean moved his hands under the hem of the shendyt to make sure that no trace of seed would be visible from Domina’s point of view. He shuddered when his fingers ran higher than necessary and ran along the tangible ridges of scars he wore in the inner juncture where his thighs met his groin. At least it was a good thing considering Aidan’s awful disappointment with his bruises that the gladiator hadn’t discovered the true extent of Dean’s marred skin from the courtesy of previous owners. The dark-haired man hadn’t moved his roaming hands or cock so high and felt the thin, raised lines.

Some Romans grew furious in an almost entertaining way when they saw scars on a body-slave they wanted unblemished, if it wasn’t for the violence they rained upon the slave regardless of the slave’s inability to ward himself from scarring and abuse.

To calm his beating heart at the gruesome memories, Dean turned thoughts to Aidan’s body. Scars were there as well, only more recently afflicted with weapons and from sport inside and outside the arena.

The life of a gladiator was hard and constantly containing a serious risk of death. Dean swallowed at the image in his mind of the burn mark on Aidan’s arm. Dean had been taught to read the Roman letters by an older Dominus a few years ago, though the purpose was not for his benefit but to read lewd poems the man wrote before the old man released on Dean’s person.

Dean flexed his jaw. It was such a disgusting memory. But he had seen the letter F inside a square on the underside of Aidan’s forearm; proving who Aidan belonged to. Dean was lucky in that regard, because as a pleasure-slave he was more valuable the better he looked at the auctions. No wise Dominus should leave lasting marks on a pleasure-slave he planned to sell.

Only, Dean had suffered through five years of servitude and his masters had cared more about damaging him in their disgusting plays than securing a good prize for their possession once they were done playing.

Dean released a small sigh, checked his fingers for traces of Aidan’s seed, ran his hand over his tousled hair to flatten the errant locks somewhat, and shuffled through the entrance to Domina’s room.

***

“Domina.”

His mistress sat with a straight back on a stool and her hands were being tended to by her most valued body-slave Corinna who knelt on the floor and massaged them with a sweet-scented ointment that would make Domina’s hands softer. It was the last of the preparations of the day before Domina left her chamber to start her day as the honoured wife of Faustus.

Nona, Domina's second body-slave, was busying herself with tidying the small personal altar with the carved figures of gods and goddesses and a plate with burned incense. Domina prayed long and often to the divine people to keep her home, her husband, and herself safe.

There was the almighty Juno to protect Cornelia’s womanhood, Vesta whose grace would make sure the great hearth in the kitchen warmed food for the habitants in the villa, and lastly Minerva with her powers over wisdom, professions, trade, and defense; for her husband’s and her fortunes in operating a ludus in Neapolis.

Occasionally Faustus would as paterfamilias gather his household and take them all to the constructed shrine in the atrium in the centre of the house where a larger altar was placed for offerings to the many gods. Though, the gladiators were never given the command to join, for as Faustus’ greatest investment, they couldn’t leave one session of training to pray to gods who weren’t even their gods. What the house-slaves believed in mattered less in Faustus’ eyes.

Upon his notification, Domina turned her head and her almond brown hair swayed in the elegant arrangement on top of her head and threatened to tangle with the Persian pearls in her hanging earrings.

She studied him thoroughly and Dean kept his eyes lowered obediently but felt his cheeks flush under the stern scrutiny of his state. He looked at the end of Domina’s dress and saw that she had chosen to wear the parchment white tunic today with the moss green stola over it; a sleeveless long tunic that hung freely and hid the extent of her curvy body and proved her status as a married woman.

Corinna finished the massage and gently pushed a golden ring with a Heracles knot onto Domina’s right forefinger before she got up from the floor and put away the jars of beautifying creams and cosmetics. She flashed Dean a fleeting smile but couldn’t do anything else with Domina in the room to command them.

Domina seemed to have gotten enough information from Dean’s figure because she pursed her lips and fixed her intelligent eyes on his face.

“Look at me.”

Dean braced himself and lifted his head, keeping his nervous mood behind a passive face. Domina clicked her tongue and grimaced as she gestured at his whole form.

“No, this will not due at all. You are unclean. No use of oil and strigil will suppress this stench. Corinna, have Dean properly scrubbed. Use my bath, but make sure you drain it and fill it with clean water afterwards. I will not stand the reek of a gladiator on my own body-slave or on me.“

“Yes, Domina,” Corinna chirped and clasped her hands in front of her belly, attentive and submissive. Dean felt relief at the prospect of getting a bath, but Domina’s harsh words were awkward and shaming torment he would have to endure until then.

Cornelia pointed her ringed finger in his direction while her left hand dug in a pocket of her dress to take hold of a tiny key. “And remove the necklace before the bath. It needs to be thoroughly polished before joining my other jewelry. Do you understand, Nona?”

“I do, Domina.”

The other female slave of Roman descent with the straight black hair answered quickly and took the key that would unlock the bronze necklace. Domina blinked in a pleased manner before she addressed Dean with her firm but composed voice.

“Did you sate the gladiator?”

“Yes, I did, Domina,” Dean answered.

She nodded imperiously and tilted her head. “Was he pleased with his reward?”

Dean suspected that Domina wasn’t about to inquire this information from Aidan too as she never ventured downstairs to approach the gladiators, but he still wanted to answer true and yet make Domina contented with his performance and not displeased with having been coerced by her husband to share her own body-slave with a gladiator. This was a path of words requiring balance and strategy by Dean and he had to choose his words fast to not make Domina wait too long. He licked his lips and inhaled.

“The gladiator’s wishes were fulfilled and I put a smile upon his face. He found enjoyment during the night.”

Domina countered kindly with her eyes growing milder, “Then my husband will be pleased with you as well. You did well even if the reward requested came as a surprise to me. Don’t expect to be handed over to a barbaric fighter any time soon. You are my slave and I want you to tend to my needs and my home only.”

“Gratitude, Domina,” Dean replied and bowed his head, aware that his words would sound as if he was grateful for servicing his mistress.

Then Domina frowned and leaned over from her stool. “I can’t accept the wrinkles on the shendyt. Egyptian linen is to be treasured and clean. Nona, wash that garment before putting it away. I want it to be white as my pearls. Let no speck of gladiator filth be left on the linen.”

Nona nodded and hurried quietly to Dean’s side, all but reaching to divest Dean of the necklace and the skirt that now were her responsibility. Domina waved at them to go and Dean relaxed when Corinna joined the two of them and guided them out of the room.

“Dean!”

Dean stiffened upon the clear call behind his back and he turned on the spot to look at Cornelia who stood tall in her chamber with the green stola quivering around her form. One corner of the formal woman’s mouth was raised higher.

“You’ve done well by the house of Faustus after scarcely a month under our roof. See to continue your service in that manner and you will find yourself cherished and rewarded.”

Corinna was excitedly pinching his arm when she led him to the slaves’ dormitory with Nona in their wake, but Dean walked numbly, amazed by the praise he had received from Domina.

Once in the privacy of the in the daylight empty dormitory, Corinna left to prepare the bath while Nona fetched a large sheet for drying and placed it in Dean’s hands.

“Use this to cover yourself when we walk to the bath. No need to shock Dominus or any potential guests of commerce with your bared manhood in case he leaves his office,” the Roman slave tittered and Dean shook his head in amusement.

The girl was livelier than the elegant Corinna, but more unsophisticated with her constant fixation on vulgar jokes.

“I’ll have that in mind. Do you want me to assist…?” Dean commented when Nona walked around him and reached for the lock of the broad necklace.

“No need to. I’ve done this before. It’s a mercy that you’re not a tall man so I can reach.”

Dean snorted and shyly ducked his head. The weight of the necklace was suddenly lifted from his shoulders and he felt as if he could breathe easier.

“Even so,” the woman added with a shimmer in playful eyes as she placed the necklace on a slave's bed and encircled Dean to unbuckle the belt that held the shendyt secured by his hips, “you possess great beauty that suits your height. It’s not hard to see that Aidan was enticed by you.”

Dean flinched and he stared at the woman who casually rolled the belt in her hand before she reached for the loosened Egyptian skirt, but Dean stopped her by letting go of the folded sheet and clasping her hands instead before they touched his waist.

“Nona, what do you hide behind your statements?” he asked with an anxious feeling. Was the affect Aidan had had on him so obvious despite his effort to conceal his clashing opinions on the Celt? Or did Nona imply something else when she so gladly helped him undress?

Dean kept his grip on her hands and for a moment the carefree girl wilted.

“I speak of silly things. Don’t pay any attention to them.”

But Dean was not so easily deterred from the subject. With a pained expression, he looked at the squirming woman from under his straying golden locks.

“You are not a foolish girl. You have a mind that works and I want to know what you meant. Why are you thinking that I tempted the gladiator last night with my appearance? You’re not…”

Dean suddenly paled and released her hands with fear.

“You’re not _jealous_ , are you? You’re not harbouring… feelings for me?” he mumbled.

Then Nona stilled before him before she tossed her long hair back and laughed. She persisted with the giggling while Dean cursed silently and grumbled before her. He received a playful slap on his bare chest.

“Gods, no! Don’t confuse concern for borrowed garments with love! Also, if I’m as clever as you claim I am, then why would I let myself fall in love with a man who can never love a woman? As if love can endure amongst slaves anyway!”

Then Nona wiped tears of joy from her cheeks and Dean huffed and shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

“Then all is good. We are friends,” he stated.

Nona nodded and grew more serious as she tentatively, but not erotically Dean realized now, reached down to grasp the top of the shendyt and smoothly pull it down Dean’s legs so he could step out of it. While bending to the floor to take care of the returned garment, Nona gave Dean back his dropped sheet and he wrapped it around his lower half.

Nona stood and regarded him with unusual decorum.

“If I’m honest, I would more likely be jealous of you for spending the night with Aidan. He is a good lover. But I know my worth in his eyes, just like the rest of the servants in this household do. Sometimes I think of him as a Jupiter amongst slaves; seducing and fucking mere mortals but only loving them for a few blissed, fleeting moments. But folly it is to dwell on moments gone. However, it _is_ clear that he took a liking to you too, as I knew he would, with your golden locks.”

The woman looked as if she pondered her fate as her eyes darted to the necklace on the bed and the skirt in her hands. Dean creased his brows and spread his arms in query.

“Again with what you think about Aidan’s feelings for me last night! Why are you talking in riddles like an oracle, woman?”

Nona gave him a sly look before she sidestepped him and stroke his arm lightly.

“I’ll let Corinna tell you. It will be more entertaining for me to know that she handles that conversation. She sees it too on you. Off to the bath with you; she’s waiting for you,” she called over her shoulder as she picked up the necklace and left Dean.

He was still agitated rather than amused by the teasing, so used to being the lured one making mistakes that angered his owners. There was something going on here and rather than to wash himself clean, Dean longed more for explanation from Corinna. He went to Domina’s bath, thankfully without encountering Faustus on the way.

***

The drops ran along his collarbone and streamed down his chest as Corinna wrung the soaked rag above him. Dean moaned softly and the slightly cool water soothed his limbs and dispelled all the worries in the pit of his belly.

Corinna sat on the edge of the green marble basin in the small, gloomy room and brazenly dipped her feet in the water beside Dean’s shoulders. Her tunic was hiked up over her knees to not get wet and Dean felt the fabric brush against his back when the Greek woman leaned forward to drench the rag anew.

This was a rare treat and Dean enjoyed it thoroughly: the peace, the silence between him and Corinna, how the ripples on the water’s surface tickled his chest when they returned from the other side of the basin that was large enough for several people to soak themselves in.

Still, it wasn’t as large as Dominus’ bath that was used for certain guests on warm days. But the smallness of this room emanated a sense of containment to Dean. He felt safe here, like in a mother’s womb, or in a small hut in a Germanic forest.

Dean bent his legs and wrapped his arms around his knees, lost in thoughts. To be cleansed by the caring hands of a tender woman…

It reminded him of winters long ago when his oldest sister poured heated water in a wooden trough and bathed him when he was a small boy. Corinna possessed that care and warmth even though she was his recent slave friend behind these new walls in another Roman villa.

She brushed the dripping cloth over his tense shoulders and made him soften, both in body and soul. Dean’s chest rose with calmness.

“He never had you in that fashion.”

Dean startled at the sudden statement but scrubbed a wet palm over his face to awaken his focus and made a querying noise. Corinna chuckled behind him and swept the rag along his nape, pressing into the flesh.

“You know what I mean. Aidan didn’t breach you. You wouldn’t be sitting like that if he had entered.”

Dean turned fearful eyes towards her.

“Was that wrong? He said I could choose for us. I beseech you, don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to get punished.”

His voice turned shriller with panic before Corinna shushed him and sprinkled water over his side with her toes.

“I heard you in Domina’s room, and Aidan isn’t a bad man. You did your duty and everyone is pleased with you, Dean.”

A moment went by when Corinna only instructed Dean to lift his arms so she could wash his armpits. Then her quiet voice distracted Dean from her wriggling fingers in such a sensitive place.

“Was it good for you; being with Aidan?”

Dean nibbled on his bottom lip and recalled Aidan’s heated flesh pressing against him, the fervent lips of the Celt on all the right places on his skin. He nodded once, not interested in telling his friend every detail of the complicated night in the gladiator’s cell.

Corinna hummed, “I venture he shares the sentiment. Did you notice the mark of his mouth he’s left on your shoulder blade?”

Dean felt her fingers slide on his damp skin until they prodded at a point high on his back and Dean felt the soreness there. That must have been the sign of Aidan’s fondness with his body that Nona had detected when she unlocked his necklace.

Dean swallowed when the mark’s birth came to him and offered the feeling of Aidan’s hot eruption between his clenching thighs while the man moaned with a ragged voice before attaching his mouth on Dean’s flesh and sucking until his bliss had been dulled by the time passing. That was a wondrous moment of nothing but pleasure and desire from a man who used no violence on him.

That is, until the grim mood stole the poetry and tenderness from the black-haired fighter and left Dean feeling soiled and used like so many times before.

Corinna patted the spot before returning to her task and taking the fleeting rag and handing it to Dean while she told him, “I’m happy for you, Dean. For having Aidan as your first gladiator in a bed. Pity you’ll never know his touch again, the fickle boy that he is.”

The reproachful remark made Dean even more somber somehow. He mustn’t forget that Aidan worked through Faustus’ stock of slaves like a plough through virgin land, leaving inner soil turned and hearts agape.

He said nothing when Corinna then ordered him to clean his private parts so Domina would be pleased before she stepped up from the bath and wiped her feet on his sheet before donning her sandals.

Not before long, the Germanic slave was back in his usual attire consisting of a cotton tunic of some coulour, today a blue one, and subligaria beneath. The shendyt and the necklace had probably already been returned to Domina by the diligent Nona, washed or polished. The only visible evidence that remained of Dean and Aidan’s shared night was the mark on Dean’s skin, and even then, he could barely see it except when he looked into a bronze mirror in the room after his bath where he had to scrub the scent of Aidan off his skin.

Corinna drained the basin and brushed the rag along the gradually exposed marble sides to wash away lingering dirt from Dean. Dean rubbed the damp sheet over his hair that had curled a lot from the wetness and he established that he had just experienced the first time with another human when he completely enjoyed a joining.

Maybe the reason for Dean’s pleasure las night stemmed from his own decision to fuck. Maybe it was because Aidan was so tender with and attentive of him. There was for once barely any soreness in his behind, except in the muscles in his buttocks from the intense clenching, or in any other part of his body.

Dean concluded that he would rather linger on the lull of male hands making him lust and want, than think more of Aidan’s dismissive nature in the morning’s ruthless light. He had been with a remarkable man and that was more than Dean could wish for.

He rubbed his belly that groaned for a morning meal and he asked Corinna, “Will I have time for a meal? I know I missed the house-slaves’ time for one, but to work on an empty stomach for a whole day without anything to sustain me…”

Corinna looked mildly shocked. “Of course you can have your morning meal! You’ve worked through the night and you performed well. Go to the kitchen and ask for bread to eat and posca to drink from the cook. Tell him I permitted you to eat, from order by Domina."

Grateful for her help, Dean smiled at her before going to his destination. Even if Dean would have preferred his homeland’s ale, water, or milk instead of the sour vinegar diluted with water that the Romans served their slaves, it would be good to fill his mouth with food.

He chuckled to himself as he walked more light-hearted through the villa. At least he hadn’t tasted Aidan’s stirring lips and had to wash the taste of the Celt's prodding tongue from his mouth with the bitter posca.

***

Almost a month later, early in the afternoon, Aidan panted after the advance on Taurus that had made both men drenched in perspiration during the exceptionally hot summer day.

The sun was placed high in the cloudless sky and dried out weeds, animals, and humans with its sweltering beams.

Aidan let one tired arm drop and brought the other to his forehead to wipe it with the leather that was wrapped around his wrist for protection. His mouth was parched and the only consolation for so many hours until sundown and an ended training day was that he shared this discomfort with all his brothers. No-one amongst the gladiators, no matter what rank he had, was excused from training which Doctore led with a stern face and unbowed back. The heat didn’t bother the slim but strong, and older Parthian man.

“Fucking gods, I’m prepared to drink from our basin, even if all brothers bathe their filthy loins in it before me!” Taurus grunted as he let his sturdy rectangular shield rest standing on the sand and he bowed his body and leaned on it. Taurus, the champion of Neapolis with his enormous, bulging shoulders fought as murmillo in the arena and he had to train daily with a simpler shield and a wooden gladius in the ludus, but today it seemed like even he couldn’t bear to hold up his weapons forever.

Even so, the champion gave Aidan a struggle and Aidan’s normally quick feet and fast lunges were slowed by the heat. Although, Aidan could take pride in being paired off with such a famous gladiator who could make him learn new techniques.

Aidan rocked his arms at his sides and felt the weight of his blunt wooden sword and the crude oval shield that differed so much from the finer, coloured cetratus he carried in the arena. “Stand, Taurus. I’ll not yield if I have the slightest chance of bringing you off your feet,” the young Celt challenged even as Taurus palmed his subligaria with one hand and fanned his crotch by lifting and dropping the fabric over and over.

Aidan rolled his eyes and lifted his sword arm to rake his fingers through his glistening hair. At least he didn’t risk getting a burn like his shaved brothers, but his thick raven hair kept the heat on his crown. Aidan and the other gladiators didn’t wear their fancier armour or helmets in the secludity of the ludus. They did wear leather over their shoulders in various styles; Aidan’s pauldron ever covering his right arm and with straps reaching around the left shoulder.

His rarely worn tight sandals tied high on his calves were now replaced by shorter, basic sandals and thick bindings of fabric around his shins offered protection from viscious kicks and low strikes. But the only proper garment the men wore was the subligaria and their bronzed muscular nakedness gleamed in the brightness.

Aidan thought he could perceive with his young, sharp eyes how sweat beads evaporated on his skin and left an itchy crust of salt behind that glittered like snowflakes. It was fortunate that he had been condemned to spend five years in Gaul immediately after his capture and gradually gotten used to the warmer weather south of Britannia. It made it a little easier to endure summer droughts.

“Taurus! Fight or lose half your raison tonight!” Doctore threatened as he stalked towards the lazy champion, dressed in loose breeches and a cuirass made of leather molded after Doctore’s muscles on the torso.

Taurus grimaced and waved at the sun. “Doctore, even you can’t pretend as if training today doesn't burn like a forged iron spear of Vulcanus rammed up your arse.”

Doctore kicked the shield Taurus leaned on which made the gladiator stumble back.

“A champion can only hold his title as the beloved fighter of a city as long as he tends to his strength. Get back to sparring with Aidan!” the Parthian snarled at the disgruntled Roman fighter who sighed and lifted his shield.

Aidan let his eyes sweep across the yard where couples trained with faltering vigour and he glanced with envy at the guards present around the yard to keep the order in case the gladiators suddenly began to fight in earnest.

Their leader, Graham who Aidan had met upon his first arrival at the ludus, was stationed in the shade before the row of the most victorious gladiators' cells opposite the villa and the tall, broad man observed the training gladiators with peering eyes.

Aidan had realized long ago that the man always stood in the direction of the sun so he could have a clear view of the things he was guarding at the time and not be blinded by sunrays. This was a tactic that surpassed the dumber guards of Faustus who positioned themselves wherever they could lean against a wall.

Over the year spent in the ludus, Aidan had learned that Graham was a retired soldier from the heavy infantry of the Imperial Roman army, having been recruited in his youth and served Rome for twenty years in a legion. Thus, the gruff and quiet man was a Roman citizen even if his appearance reminded Aidan of Northern folks.

After his time in the army Graham had looked for an income in cities since he owned no land to farm. After some time travelling between short-termed hirings and cities, he came to Neapolis and Faustus promised him a good salary and a home for a long time. With his vast experience of defence, Graham was employed by Dominus as a guard, both over Faustus’ property and over his life when Faustus ventured outside the villa to take care of business in Neapolis below the cliff the villa was settled upon.

Aidan bared his teeth at the hardly sweating man in the armour before he heard someone calling for Doctore’s attention and Taurus looked around too.

From the now apparently open gate leading to the inner part of the villa, a short row of house-slaves came walking, and one dark-haired man Aidan had seen before was a rolling a large, sealed urn with a squelching content that echoed sweetly in the yard filled with unmoving men.

Aidan looked at the visitors' clothes that defined most of them as body-slaves of Domina instead of the usual house-slave scurrying across the yard to clean the champion's cell or leave a message from Faustus to Doctore.

Doctore stepped forth from the lines of his students and approached Corinna who led the slaves. Aidan smirked at the sight of his beautiful friend who got even the harsh Parthian to use a polite tone in respect towards her.

“What is this, Corinna?”

Corinna turned her head to the male slave handling the urn and ordered him to erect it on the ground before she introduced their purpose in the yard with a clear voice and eyes trained on Doctore.

“Dominus appointed us to give drinks to thirsty men on this particularly scorching day. We bring water from the well and you are entitled to one spoonful each before letting Doctore resume training.”

Doctore gave her an accepting nod and she immediately began to fuss with the slaves and make them open the urn and equip themselves with ladles. As on a signal, the heated men started to flock around the slaves and aim their thirsty gazes on the urn.

Aidan joined the group where Taurus stood more upright now with the promise of a halted training _and_ water. The fighter's tossed their weapons carelessly on the ground and salivated when thoughts turned to more tempting things during the wait for a drink.

“The gods see us at last and send us relief carried by nymphs,” one Roman gladiator groaned and the others chuckled at him.

Then Taurus got a look of surprise on his face and he pointed with his meaty finger in the direction of the slaves preparing the drinks.

“Yes, but not all the nymphs are women, it seems. An unclaimed pullus walks amongst us,” he remarked and when Corinna and the other black-haired girl stepped aside, a golden-haired man was revealed near the gate, frozen and idle and looking as he most of all wanted to flee back into the villa.

Aidan felt his chest constrict upon the vision of Dean in the middle of a bright, dusty yard. The locks on his head shone under the sun, but he looked smaller than he had felt in Aidan’s embrace. The Germanic man huddled by the gate, this time wearing a far more modest brown tunic and the standard sandals the house-slaves wore. He was delightfully flushed like a red berry in the autumn, and his skin gleamed with sweat where the tunic didn’t cover him.

His eyes were hidden by his fringe and his hands twitched by his sides, but his cheeks looked fuller and his collarbones were not so protruding. He had eaten well in the house of Faustus and Aidan’s desire to explore the man's body was rekindled.

Many days had passed since their encounter but the memory of Dean’s large eyes and his pleas for Aidan’s touch had remained in the Celt’s mind. He hadn’t foreseen to encounter the pretty and yet shy pleasure-slave without warning, and especially not in the company of his brothers.

Unease flared inside Aidan’s hot belly when he noticed how the men in his group began to hum approvingly or fasten hungry gazes on Dean. One of the gladiators of less of a status winked blatantly at Dean who must have ignored him because the gladiator huffed and raked a dusty hand over his shaved head.

“The boy makes my cock swell and my balls throb on purpose! If I wasn’t so thirsty, I would pursue tight ass instead of water now.”

Aidan felt his features darken and his jaw tense. He guessed where the conversation was going and his red-haired Celtic nemesis Brogan fulfilled his prediction when he let out a hoarse laugh.

“I won’t offer you competition, Marcellus. That boy is not for me. I keep to cunts.”

Taurus shoved Brogan in the shoulder and commented with a grin, “By the way you drink wine, I’m surprised you can tell one hole from the other when you fumble between a girl’s legs.”

Brogan scowled at the shorter but stronger talent before he trained his curious eyes on Dean again. Sergius, the mad victor in the arena, sidled up to his equally skilled brothers and clicked his tongue in irritation.

“As long as he doesn’t bleed molten gold through his veins, his flesh doesn’t stir me. Just take your drinks so we can get back to the sparring!”

His words spurred on the others who began to wander closer to the urn where the more or less dark-haired slaves filled their ladles and carried them to the awaiting gladiators, one after one.

Aidan waited until the more desperate fighters had gotten their drinks and in the meantime he kept his eye on Dean who was guided to the urn by Corinna who instructed him with whispers and showed him how to fill and tilt a full ladle without spilling a precious drop when a gladiator would drink from it. Aidan thought the nervous body-slave was utterly stunning in his tentativeness, though he longed for a smile to grace those curvy lips.

Soon Corinna left the place by the urn with her own burden and went into the group of whistling and cheering men. Dean was left standing demurely behind the barrel, eyes lowered and arms moving quickly to refill the emptied tool and steady its journey to a waiting mouth belonging to a gladiator who had ventured closer in his hunt for water.

The gladiator sated his thirst and Aidan bristled when he dared to smile down at Dean and say something to him that couldn’t be heard. Dean dipped his chin down and avoided the gladiator’s curious gaze.

***

Aidan moodily shrugged his stiffening shoulders and decided to seek distraction from the sight of his latest conquest conversing with other men. The Celt looked around and spotted a familiar slim shape and he crouched down and sneaked through the cluster of other gladiators until he stood behind Corinna’s back. He snatched her wrist with the speed of a falcon and stepped to her front, a toothy grin at meeting the Greek woman.

Corinna gasped and for once lost her charming countenance and almost lost her grip on the valued water.

“Careful there. You wouldn’t want to end up spilling water on yourself again,” Aidan smiled cheekily and Corinna sighed with tried patience when she nevertheless brought the ladle higher to reach Aidan’s parting lips. The Celt greedily drank the cool water from the well and groaned contently when he had gulped down the content and proceeded to lick the wood to not let any stray drops escape him.

“Greetings, Aidan. And no, you will never again see my dress drenched by water,” Corinna retorted with false indignation, remembering like he did their first meeting.

Aidan stepped back and gently grasped the ladle and enveloped Corinna’s hand in a warm touch as he lowered it down to her side. He appraised her with his dark but kind eyes, a smile playing at his lips.

“Pity. Your body is far too beautiful to stay hidden behind fabric. But when we first met, you were the most influential temptation I’ve ever beheld after years with filthy men in a muddy stronghold in fucking Gaul.”

Corinna ignored the not so subtle glance at her breasts and tilted her head to observe the young but wise Celt she considered to be a friend within these walls.

“You look well, Aidan, and you seem energetic and more inclined to not hide your voice and face from your brothers. Why is that?”

“Corinna, Corinna… ever insightful like a Greek Minerva. It’s true; I fight and train with perfection in my movements that surpasses Taurus, but there’s something else occupying my every waken thought.”

His brown eyes darted sideways and Corinna followed their direction until she looked upon Dean who stood behind the water urn with his head lowered and filled cup after cup as gladiators gathered in a jostling line to get their fill of recovery from the heat. Corinna got a short crease between her thin, dark brows.

“Dean? You bedded him after your last fight. But why would that matter to your performance today?”

Aidan looked at her dubiously and explained slowly as if speaking to an idiot. “He is Apollo in this forsaken place of dirt and blood. I would request his company again as a reward when I get the chance.”

Corinna’s jaw dropped and she leaned back and observed him with a queer expression.

“Have you gone mad in this heat? You never ask for the same slave to return to you.”

“Maybe my hunger for him hasn’t been completely satisfied,” Aidan mumbled before he noticed how the person in question drew nearer them and the dark-haired man stood taller and fixed Dean with an intense look. Corinna paid him no attention when she rotated on the spot and patted Dean on the arm.

“Is all well?” she asked and Dean muttered while crossing his arms, “Some of the men are requesting more drinks. You must tell them no, for they will listen to no-one but you deterring them.”

Corinna waved her hands in the air and released a frustrated noise.

“Ungrateful, impossible men! I’ll tell them soon. Come and join us Dean, please. We’re speaking of playing with water.”

‘Are we?’ Aidan thought, almost having in mind to say it out loud and tease Corinna, but he was much keener on inviting Dean into their company.

“Yes, I remember splashing water all over Corinna when I first arrived here, ragged and dirty like a dog. She was a sight in her thin dress. However, I think it a pity that the male house-slaves here are equipped with thicker woolen tunics that hide their shapes.”

He searched for Dean’s elusive blue eyes that darted between Corinna and him.

“Thinner tunics would be easier to wear during droughts, although they wouldn’t necessarily flatter all the male slaves,” the Germanic man murmured and so, Aidan stated boldly, ”They would flatter you.”

Finally Aidan gained the eyes of the other and hardly listened to Corinna when she remarked, “Aidan, you barely act like yourself today.”

The Celt raised his hands and raked them through his oiled hair, consciously displaying his sweaty, muscled form to the other male. Once he had Dean’s gaze on him, Aidan stepped forward on the dusty ground and touched Dean’s arm fleetingly.

“Fate brings you to me again. I am grateful for seeing you.”

Dean wrung his arm back but kept looking into Aidan’s kind pools of bronze, albeit with an unrevealing expression.

“Commands made me be in your presence, not fate.”

Words failed Aidan upon the harsh voice and the increasingly hard features on the shorter man’s face. Fury wasn’t something he had anticipated from the timid body-slave who had asked him to sleep next to him. Again, this was something that upset Aidan and he was starkly reminded of the dismissing nature of the slave come morning that time. So he chose to follow a path of reassurance and flattery.

“Our introduction was enjoyable, golden one. I would pursue more from you.”

Dean lifted his blue eyes and Aidan’s chest swelled with hope.

“No more meetings can happen. Please don’t ask for me!” the body-slave hissed with almost alarm in his voice and his eyes darted to Corinna who studied him carefully. Aidan frowned in confusion.

“Why? I though you enjoyed touching me, and me touching you. Did I wrong you in any way?”

“I can’t give you anything more!” Dean snarled suddenly and spread his arms to show his lack of whatever he thought he couldn’t share with the gladiator. To see rejection like that from a slave who yet had begged for Aidan’s hands made Aidan angry. Angry for watching his sun god shine coldly and act like a hypocrite, feeding Aidan riddles instead of answers.

So Aidan loomed over the shorter man and held up one hand to stop Corinna from interfering.

“You enter my cell terrified. You become happy when I bed you, before you depart in that reserved mood. Now tell me that our fucking and your rapture was pretended, or you are the most convincing lying slave I’ve ever encountered.”

Corinna let out a gasp, and Dean whitened, whether from guilt or ire was hard to tell. Aidan leaned in, counting on no violent reaction from the slave when he whispered against his ear, “Despite shunning me like rotten apples, you still appeal to me. I want you, honey-hair.”

Aidan felt the warmth from the unmoving slave’s shoulder and he had a wicked idea. He formed a ring with his mouth and blew softly on the slave’s rosy skin where the neck met the shoulder and the edge of the tunic.

The other man made an enraged sound and retreated backwards with fires in his blue eyes. “You would do us both a favour if you stayed away from me!”

Dean’s voice was shaking, probably from wrath, but his passion concerned rather than aroused the Celt who shouted back, “Does this have anything to do with your scars and the thin shape of you?”

The slave didn’t give him an answer. He pressed his curved lips together, turned, and stomped across the yard towards the urn. Naturally, that didn’t put Aidan off when he wanted to understand Dean’s sudden shift in mood, and the mystery around him. The slave _had_ listened attentively to his whisper. It was only his last action that made him run. And Aidan was loath to admit defeat in a battle of words. He would speak more to Dean from Germania.

He drew a deep breath and sensed a presence beside him. He glanced to where Corinna was glaring up at him.

“Well done! You’ve accomplished nothing where Dean is concerned. He is new to this household and the workings of a ludus, if you’re sharp enough to recognize that. I thought you of all brutes would be the welcoming one!” she snapped before marching up to Dean and wrapping an arm around his shoulders and saying something inaudible to the upset man.

Aidan was breathing hard, very envious of Corinna’s easy proximity to the mortal Apollo. Still, he couldn’t go after them like a tamed donkey. Aidan would be in trouble if Doctore caught him quarrelling with house-slaves instead of drinking water or training. Speaking of, the Parthian older man was having his fill by the shadowed wall of the best gladiators’ cells. It seemed like most of the men had quenched their thirst, because they were gathering in groups and discussing the trivial matters that appeared in a gladiator’s life.

Aidan preferred his usual solitude and pondered Dean’s sudden anger. He was truly bewildered by Dean’s hostility, given how the slave had moaned and panted when Aidan gave him pleasure with his hand. Aidan couldn’t comprehend what alleged offence Dean was accusing him to have committed that would render further passionate advances unwanted. He needed to solve this disorder as soon as possible to let both of them have some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah! I made a middle-long chapter into a massive one, so I cut it in half and will serve the other much sooner than I usually take to update! The intrigues are coming on fast! More will be revealed and introduced later, as in within the next chapter already.
> 
> This chapter's FYI: Nona’s name means nine in Latin. And to get a hint of what the Roman dresses for women look like, I advise you to look up pictures of the characters Lucretia or Ilythia in the show Spartacus. You should see some pictures of them with the described double dresses/tunics, in the, albeit more revealing ones than normally, examples of the outer stola and the tunic under it.


	6. Wolves

“Corinna!”

Aidan, alike the rest of the men and the house-slaves, tilted his head to see the balcony overlooking the training ground. There stood Domina, clean and colourful in silk and jewelry, like an ever unattainable female temptation to starving men.

She rarely showed herself to them, and Aidan could count on his fingers how many times he had laid eyes on her within his year in the ludus. Cornelia didn’t think fondly of the source of income her husband praised. This had made the men respond to her pompous disinterest with disrespectful curses.

“Old cow,” Brogan muttered but luckily wasn’t heard by either Doctore or Domina above.

Cornelia was looking directly and only on her most favoured body-slave. “Come inside. You have new drapings to hang.”

Corinna said loudly so her answer could be heard clearly, “I’m coming, Domina.”

Domina retreated out of sight and Corinna began to most likely instruct the other house-slaves to begin pack together everything and prepare to return to the villa. She soon hurried through the open gate and with her left the calm she emanated.

Almost immediately a turmoil of activity started.

Gladiators began to roam the yard, some picking up their wooden weapons and urging the others to spar. Others simply sat down on the ground to take a thorough rest which prompted Doctore to approach them and berate them for their shaming laziness.

From another direction, a mocking laughter disrupted the various noises, and Aidan turned around to see the cause of it. What he saw made Roman summer on his crown feel like frost. No less than six gladiators had ganged up and openly remarked and pointed at Dean who remained by the now sealed urn.

“That pullus, he’s a mouth-watering chick with fat legs, juicy meat, and downy hair on his pretty little head. If I cared for boys, his place should be on his knees; pecking on my cock!” the red-haired Celt Brogan joked.

Feral eyes lingered on the golden-haired slave who must have caught their words, by the way he almost huddled behind the water urn. Half the group consisted of the best fighters in the ludus; only Taurus was absent.

One lesser gladiator, Marcellus, mused, “That’s a fine arse to earn after the next fight.”

Ambiorix, the sneaky Gaul who always found out secrets, interjected, “I overheard from Dominus’s mouth that this boy has learned the skills of pleasuring for years. He knows how to ease that urge inside you like no other body-slave or whore.”

Marcellus seemed even more interested and looked up to observe the subdued slave. “I might find myself tempted to challenge his skills,” he mumbled.

Another one far from the title of champion in the group added with greedy eyes and eager features trained on Dean, “I myself will seek to fill _his_ cup, if you understand me.”

While Aidan was used to hearing, and participating in such discussions of the beauties in the household amongst his brothers, this seemed to be one of the times when the crude statements were not amused, but cruel instead. Like the howls of a pack of wolves feasting their eyes on a prey.

One began to move purposefully forward, the others following close to him.

“Fair as flower, you are,” Sergius grinned wildly with his famous craze blazing from the wide eyes. Dean shared a helpless glance at the other busy house-slaves who shrugged or pitied him before one of the six gladiators stepped between and cut off Dean from the others.

“I’m… I’m not here to… Please,” Dean stammered over the chuckles and Aidan narrowed his eyes at the sight of the gladiators ignoring him and steering Dean towards a corner in the yard, not allowing him escape or will of his own.

Doctore was standing back so far, letting the men be until the last remaining men had gotten their water and training could officially continue. Only the male slave by the urn, a tall man who looked like the northern Spaniards Aidan had seen in Gaul with the tar-black hair and piercing blue eyes, made a displeased grimace but lowered his long lashes and gently placed his ladle on the edge of the urn before he stepped back gracefully, as if not seeing the way Dean was bullied against the wall of the villa immediately beside him.

A hunt had begun and nothing could deter the inner wolves of lustful men from the scent of a trapped meal. Aidan drummed his fingers against his subligaria and gritted his teeth in agitation.

His position was high but not as high as the champion Taurus or the oldest gladiators who also held power over some of the lesser brothers and used them as weapons against others. Like Ambiorix, Brogan, and Sergius this moment. It wasn’t in Aidan’s place to intervene.

He would be punished if he dared. But to see the pack of sinister men crowding and herding the man who had captivated his interest gave Aidan cause to not look away.

The gang forced the body-slave into the hot wall with a shove before the keenest one clutched Dean’s nape with his large hand and leaned in to explore his slender neck with nose and lips. The neck that Aidan had tasted.

Dean’s hand cramped so hard around the ladle he still carried that his already pale knuckles turned white as snow. If Aidan had belatedly noticed the man’s distress at being close to a man before, it became so much more evident now that the attention from several men disturbed him deeply.

While Aidan was hardly the hero of his own myth, he had kept some morals. He hadn’t taken what Dean was unwilling to give. Unlike his brothers who swarmed the flinching body-slave despite him weakly batting at their caressing hands.

One of the shaved, lesser fighters plucked the ladle from Dean's hand and carelessly tossed it away before he began to explore and prod at the slender fingers with his own dusty, coarse ones.

Base words filled the air and some gladiators around the group began to watch the event, much like Aidan who lowered his brows and tried to turn deaf by pure will.

"Little boy. Have you ever seen a man like me? Will you pursue me into my cell and seek to fill yourself?"

Even from a distance, Aidan noticed how Dean was intimidated, and the Germanic man flinched when a hand came up and brushed his golden fringe aside. Dean quickly ducked his head and tucked his chin against his chest, but despite his lack of enthusiasm, the men wouldn't leave him be.

“Come now, little pullus. Don’t be shy. We’re only wanting to get acquainted.”

A hand tugged down the generous collar of the brown tunic in order to slide another hand across the delicate collarbones.

“Are you a good fuck? Could you provide welcoming, tight sheath for swollen sword?”

One hand ruffled the golden locks into a nest and then dug into the tangles and wrenched Dean’s head back. “Answer me! Sing with a lovely voice, whore!”

Dean closed his eyes and visibly shuddered. Aidan warily strode nearer to watch every act that what was taking place in the corner.

“Domina wants me to not serve reputable gladiators. Please, let me go.”

Brogan roared in laughter at the pitiful, trembling exclamation. “That bitch! Listen boy; she’ll make you miserable inside the villa with matters of drapings, and ointments, and fucking spices on her meat! We can give you something much more pleasurable. We’ll appreciate you like you deserve.”

Dean opened his eyes and moved swiftly, but he was far too slow for trained gladiators. He feebly scratched the wrist of the hand around his neck and was released, but when he made to dash away, plenty of arms caught him and threw him back so dust scattered from the wall behind him.

Sergius gladly backhanded the slave who reeled from the blow, and Marcellus who seemed utterly intent on harassing Dean complained, “If only some boys weren’t so sensitive about some harmless playing.”

Then Sergius grasped Dean’s chin and shuffled his body against the slave and rested his entire weight on the slave who suddenly looked close to panic. The gladiator opened his mouth and bit into the roundness of Dean’s cheek.

Aidan winced and it must have hurt, because Dean whimpered and his chest rose and fell quickly against the half-naked man’s chest.

Marcellus pushed his way in beside Sergius who withdrew his disgusting mouth from Dean and left two red, curved welts, as if the body-slave was an apple to devour. Marcellus roaming hands bunched the tunic at Dean's thigh and began to lift the fabric.

“Leave me!” Dean blurted in a frail tone and apparently that frustrated Marcellus, since he stood back and regarded the trembling slave in his grasp before he swung his strong arm and struck the smaller man with a fist over his face. Aidan’s knees buckled and his belly ached when Dean cried out, and then gurgled when blood began pouring from his nose, most likely trickling inside his throat as well.

“You’ll do as I say! Stand still so I can feel you and feast my eyes on you!” the man who had hit him shouted and he immobilized Dean with one arm and his strong chest, and his other arm found a way down to the hem hanging by the exposed thighs. The bloodied body-slave fought back and managed to free one hand but the rest of the on-looking gladiators warned their brother.

“Marcellus, pullus has got his claws!”

“Give me a chance to give you pleasure, lice-ridden cock-hole!” the gladiator taunted and simply grabbed Dean’s waving arm and rammed it hard against the stony clay wall. An anguished howl left Dean’s throat and Aidan’s toes curled from unease in his sandals. He could only watch it happen.

Whether Aidan earned the right to enjoy Dean again after a victory in the arena, or dishonestly and brutally took the opportunity when it presented itself somewhere in the passages in the lower level of the ludus, some men would always envy him and try to have Dean, no matter what the golden man wanted. That was Dean's destiny, if Aidan knew his brothers right.

Aidan felt truly unsettled at thought of some of the more brutalized men ripping Dean apart like a piece of meat in a wolf’s gap. If he were them, he would rather turn focus to other gladiators and fight them as rivals for Dean; and _gain_ the right to claim a tempting man, instead of having the exotic beauty suffering abuse in every possible way.

Dean twisted in his locked position and wetness of tears stained the upper part of his face. The lower was concealed by a sheen of blood and split lips and swelling nose.

Aidan squinted in the blinding sunlight and flickering flames of heat rose from the trampled ground and pierced his chest, burning like the glowing rod that had pressed a brand onto his arm one year ago. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes from the sight of a frightened body-slave soon to be ravished as Marcellus and others groped underneath the hiked up tunic. But his ears were not spared from Dean’s hitched breaths and the menacing chuckles from the assaulters.

***

A change, so sudden and interrupting like intervening gods in the legends, came when Aidan stopped their onslaught.

Barely aware of how he sprinted over, he used his advantage of speed and with two splayed hands he shoved Marcellus back and moved in between Dean and steadied him against the wall with a hand on his chest while he kept eyeing the blinking, panting gladiators in front of him.

“Enough. I will have word with you all.”

Marcellus snorted and glared at Aidan. “Why would we listen to you when we have a pretty boy presented to us?”

Aidan lowered his face menacingly and stared through his fringe of long, oiled hair. A low warning rose in his throat.

“You will if you’re wise men, Marcellus.”

The gladiator’s grin turned displeased fast and he argued while looking around at his brothers for support, “The boy is mine. No-one else above me wants him, so I have the right to take him. Stand aside, filthy barbarian.”

Aidan broadened his stance and let out a hiss while baring his teeth. “You will reason better after hearing my opinion. But first, no need to damage the treasure further.”

As he listened intensively to any sounds that indicated motions towards him, Aidan turned slightly sideways and dared a glance back at the shaking slave. Dean was pressing himself into the wall and wet sobs left him. But his eyes…

Those clear blue sea eyes were dead as they darted here and there; until Aidan slid his hand on Dean’s shaved chest upwards and cupped the man’s injured face delicately to not cause him more harm. Aidan met Dean’s gaze and he wished he conveyed the sorrow and protection he was filling himself with. Perhaps Dean managed to make his broken face into a mask of confusion, it was hard to tell for sure for the blood in the way, but in his eyes a glint of life reappeared and Aidan sought to feed that light.

“I will provide safe return to the villa. Trust me.” he whispered and couldn’t resist adding the last part.

Aidan turned his head back and growled when he saw that two men had treaded nearer in secret.

“Back off, you fucking dogs in heat, or I vow to slay you with my bare hands!” he snarled. The others chuckled and eyed him.

“One man, against a band of brothers. Gods have mercy and make you fight us with luck,” Marcellus said mockingly and marched into Aidan’s territory.

Aidan pushed him back again and drew back his fist to hit him when a whip whistled through the air and interrupted the two fighting gladiators. Doctore walked briskly against them while gathering his released whip and arranging it in circles in one hand. The Parthian man looked furious.

“Cease madness, you cretins! Lest you prefer to proceed and feel the lick of my whip on your backs! This is no place for a house-slave, in the middle of your fight. Boy, come here.”

Both relieved and worried, Aidan saw no choice but to let Dean leave his shadow and seek refuge under the mighty protection of Doctore's authority. Though, Doctore most likely didn't act out of concern for Dean. He would face disfavour if Dominus found out he had let the gladiators he trained ravage one of Domina's personal slaves.

Still, this was the only chance. Aidan turned his head and nodded to the questioning look Dean gave him, but kept covering Dean with his body as long as possible when the slave brushed against him as he stumbled sideways towards Doctore at the edge of the group.

One gladiator made an attempt to grab Dean on the way but Doctore kicked him in the belly and the ever observing guard Graham came to roughly pull back the fighters and make a safe passage for Dean out from the corner. This brought on more shoves and curses when the guard provoked the gladiators who saw their prey get away. Merciful gods however provided a fairly safe journey for Dean before he reached Doctore who grabbed him by the arm, not seeing how the swift, harsh treatment terrified the slave further. Aidan followed them with keen eyes.

Doctore shouted as he kept the firm grip on Dean’s arm as if to not lose him in the scuffle again, “Richard! Show this boy the way to Medicus’ quarters. He needs to treat the wounds afflicted by mad dogs.”

The Spaniard, though Aidan hazily recognized the name that would suggest Britannic ancestry, took long steps and was by Doctore's side in the blink of an eye. He muttered something to Dean, bent slightly to find Dean's limp arm and grasped his hand. A groan left Dean and Aidan stiffened and watched when Dean wrenched his arm from the taller, dark-haired slave and held it against his chest. His arm was wounded.

Aidan licked his dry lips and could take a deeper breath when the man, Richard, instead wound an arm around Dean's shoulders and began leading him away from the rowdy yard. What remained of the house-slaves on water duty picked up the last tools and scurried inside the gate leading to the house. Fresh blood from Dean's split lip and injured nose kept streaming down and stained his tunic and left an irregular trail on the sandy ground.

***

Aidan watched them go before he turned his head to face his own fate. He quickly assessed the situation. Graham had managed only for so long to keep the gladiators at bay, but couldn't do more without drawing his sword. The guard backed away and Aidan was left to fend for himself in the corner. He was outnumbered by men who had been robbed of their intended pullus.

Doctore moved in and gave Aidan a hard push so the he stumbled back into the wall, much like Dean, but with more enraged fire inside his chest.

“Now, out with it and settle this grudge before returning to more honourable activities,” Doctore ordered before he left.

Aidan took strength from the wall at his back and knew he did the right thing to defend Dean. The Celt wasn't meant to stay in a trap in a corner.

So, he addressed the six men, and the others behind when he shouted, "I don't care for your hands on the body-slave! You will not touch him again."

Marcellus threw his head back and laughed but his eyes narrowed all the same. “The runt yaps to the wolf!”

He raised his brows and pursed his lips triumphantly as he crossed his powerful arms while the rest of the gladiators gathered close around the two discussing brothers and chuckled with Marcellus.

Aidan’s jaw tensed and he defiantly lifted his chin. He might be relatively new to the brotherhood of Faustus’ ludus, but he couldn't let the others begin to hunt Dean. He had seen the consequences of hunts before.

Marcellus let out a feral growl and had flared nostrils like a wild animal when he barked, "You robbed me of captured treat! Other men have died for less."

The recent image of Dean immobilized, mocked, and abused by men stronger than him caused a shift in Aidan's core, much like when he ran forward to end Dean's agony. Without thinking clearly, he pushed out his hairy chest and bumped it harshly against Marcellus so the other man was forced to back away and give him more room in the corner.

Aidan jabbed a finger in Marcellus face.

“Put one thieving hand on my claim again; and I’ll fucking rip your cock off and feed it to the pigs!” he hissed, leaving no room for contesting opinions.

Marcellus scowled but his gaze flickered unsurely.

“What sort of _claim_ have you conjured that would work against the rest of your brothers’ urge to fuck?”

Aidan chuckled haughtily, “My cock in his body on my bed! I was the first to place hands on him in this ludus and I won’t have you tearing him to pieces!”

Marcellus ugly mask fell and the others stilled. A heated breeze went through the yard and made more sweat pearl on the bodies of the men. The heaviness of his words left Aidan's tongue numb. The lie he said would save Dean. He had to follow through and convince the others. Yes, this was the only way.

He kept his victorius grin while the others studied his form. One spat at Aidan's feet vehemently.

“That was because you are the most audacious gladiator to ever request sleeping with a whole household of slaves, one after the other! We barely knew there had arrived a new one until today and now you state that he will be yours? It's not fair!”

Aidan felt as if a fever plagued him and made his limbs restless but he stood firm; not surrendering ground to his opponents. His voice was serious and never trembled when he spoke.

“I do state this, in front of all of you. You know of these rules you’ve invented here. A man who proves himself in the arena enough to be allowed a reward from Dominus can request whatever slave that remains unclaimed within these walls. I was entitled to have the Germanic one and we shared something profound in my cell that night. So, I am a good gladiator keeping the reputation of my Dominus and of my brothers, I care about that boy, and I enjoyed him first with no-one before me able to erect a claim of his own. I have the right to claim the body-slave, and you will all respect that.”

“He speaks the truth,” someone uttered.

Brogan, angered by his slowly more and more famous and rising Celt, whirled around and punched the opposing man in the face. Then he spun and snarled in the direction of Aidan, “The shaggy runt may bear the mark of this ludus, but he isn’t an excellent fighter upon the sand of the arena yet."

He gained many grunts when other men agreed with him. But Aidan stood his ground.

Another man incredulously argued while pointing at Aidan; "Shit falls from your mouth and stains the sand upon which we stand! You never take anyone twice!”

Aidan raised his brows. “I do now. I want him and you must allow me to enjoy him, absent advances from you fucks.”

Sergius folded his arms and rested his chin on his knuckles of one raised hand. He huffed, “Domina will rarely let that pissing scared boy out of his service in her rooms. You’ll barely see him.”

“Then so shall our reunion be all the sweeter,” Aidan parried with words that felt natural on his tongue. It had been a long time since he settled disputes with words instead of fists.

He raised his voice and swept his gaze over the gladiators and called, “Do I have your word? Will you from hereon stay away from my boy and seek company elsewhere should your cocks cry out in neglect?”

Brogan observed Aidan for a moment too long, and Aidan braced himself for a fight, before he let out his burly laugh. The older Britannic fighter stepped forward and thrust out his hand for Aidan to grasp his wrist and press their arms together.

“Aidan speaks like a Roman orator but his words ring true. He has earned the right to have that boy. We can let him have that skittish rabbit, can’t we, boys?”

Reluctant but visible nods and agreeing grunts came from the gladiators behind Brogan as the red-haired gladiator let go of Aidan’s hand, and Aidan gave his countryman a nod in gratitude for openly acknowledging his rights according to the established rules within the gladiators’ ranks. He may not be the highest of them, but his gamble this time had left him victorious. He had convinced them that Dean should belong to him.

Brogan stepped back and swept his arm to force his brothers to back away to efficiently clear a path for Aidan. Brogan sighed before he called in a loud tone. “It is settled then. That pullus belongs to Aidan and no other. Now… Doctore! Who will spar against me?!”

And as he stomped away to the pile of weapons and shields, with him followed the rest of the gladiators, save for one certain Sergius who slowed his steps before he turned and walked backwards while addressing Aidan with a sly, malicious grin.

“Remember, precious Aidan: this means you from now only can go to the boy for satisfaction.”

Once he was left alone by the wall, Aidan winced. Had he really thought this through; what it meant to claim one slave, and what if he missed the best body that could yet arrive to the villa?

Now he had suddenly tied himself to a body-slave who hadn’t even welcomed him between his legs. Not _really_ between his legs, even if Aidan had been granted a pleasant stay between slick thighs. Not that Aidan planned to force his way in, but he would be moody if it turned out he was denied a warm body.

He had never gone without for lengths of time since his arrival at the villa. Boy or girl; he often found solace in their company. And now that he was bound to Dean; what if he began to long for breasts?

All his previous courage and fury streamed out from Aidan with the perspiration trickling down his body and he found his mind occupied with the problematic situation he had put himself in to save a slave who seemed strange and angry with him for some reason. Had his sacrifice of no change of people in his bed been too costly for the sake of a simple body-slave being subjected to what he should be able to handle; caresses and attention from lustful men?

Aidan walked to retrieve his shield and sword left on the sand and in his heart, he began to doubt his act, even if it had been painful to watch Dean huddling in a corner and Aidan found him intriguing, if frustrating with his odd attitude.

Could the hesitant body-slave offer him the pleasure he craved when the need arose? And was the rumours amongst his brothers true; that a man who received no pleasure would in time see his own cock shrivel?

Aidan fiddled with a loose strap on the leather around his wrist and didn't meet anyone's eyes just yet. He needed to seek Dean out to speak to him. He hoped the man was being treated by Medicus and that he would be lucky to stumble across the body-slave soon.

***

Once safely inside the gate and entering a corridor he hadn't walked down before, Dean shrugged off the arm around his shoulders and cradled his arm with his unharmed one, gaze lowered to his injury. To have his wrist rammed against an unyielding stone wall had left it twinging whenever he tried to move his fingers.

Dean exhaled through his mouth, mostly because his nose was throbbing and clogged. He decided to try to create a tunnel for air and wiped his lower face on his arm. He was horrified by the slick streaks of blood that were left on the pale skin. But he could finally stop panting through his mouth like a heated dog.

Dean also roughly brushed away the tears of hurt that dangled on his lashes. His tongue traced the inside of his mouth and found no tooth loose or chipped, but his cheek hurt nevertheless from the slap, the lips felt numb from the blow, and he felt as if he was covered in dust and dirt from gladiators' groping hands. He wanted badly to clean himself but there wasn't time for that right now. A visit to Faustus' Medicus would come first. Dean grimaced bitterly. What a joke the gods played with him. Once the bruises from his old Master finally had faded and vanished, he received new ones to replace them in this villa.

Still, Dean tried to make himself look strong in front of the guide he didn't know, so he straightened his back and ignored the urge to curl in on himself and protect his belly. The changed position did offer relief to his back when the fabric of the tunic only occasionally brushed against the scraped skin along his spine from when he had been brutally pressed against the wall.

The gladiators had spooked him even before they advanced on him. After encountering a mass of fighters, Dean had come to the conclusion that he feared gladiators.

Even if he had handled groups of men before plenty of times, when he was ordered to entertain Romans at parties with dances that led to ghosting caresses. But these men... half-tamed like caged beasts, just waiting to assault proper slaves when they innocently intended to pass water to them.

Dean bit into his lip to prevent more tears of anguish when he remembered how quickly they had surrounded him, their strength combined into capturing a body-slave. That Dean didn't know them increased his panic. He had been absent knowledge of his chasers. He knew not what angered or amused them and couldn’t adapt to their preferences.

They had handled him with harsh words and unpredictability that scared Dean, and yet while acting like rampaged animals, they were so united when they singled him out and herded him into solitude. All minds had been fixed on one thing: his body. For that purpose, they moved together almost like roman soldiers. Dean felt more tears falling when his lids went down at the thought of the dark era of his life as a Roman slave.

In this yard, Dean had felt helpless and they wouldn't try to listen to him reasoning with them. That Domina disliked him associating with gladiators and that her husband had ensured her that everything would be fine when Dean was requested to bring water to the yard and assist the other house-slaves. His task should have been to carry one drink at a time to thirsty men; not to pleasure them out there, under the blazing sun in front of the whole lower household present on the sand. The gladiators hadn’t adhered to his pleas and explanations.

So, Dean really should consider himself lucky that Aidan had ended the chaos, but he was more concerned with the question _why_?

Why had the Celt done such a thing? What purpose could he possibly have to cover Dean and face a riot of gladiators, especially after Dean had slighted him earlier, which was for the sake of Aidan acting unfriendly and dismissive towards him after lying with him that night?

If Aidan truly had no real affection for him, why steep to stepping in and ending his torment? Why place one warm hand on his chest, then cup his jaw tenderly with the same hand and look at him with brown eyes filled with sorrow and yet determination?

Combined with that rushed reassurance of 'trust me', and the previous whisper of 'I still want you' that sent shivers, pleasant shivers, down Dean's back, Dean might have discovered his answer. Because Aidan had even used one of his poetic names for Dean when they exchanged words.

Had Aidan’s actions been driven by fever from the sun, or could it be a senseless lust for him in the fighter’s bed again? Those were the only options that Dean could think of that could explain the foolish intervention. Though, that didn’t make him feel less dirty; more in fact. Even a man who for a few moments seemed sincere and caring had turned into a perverted beast like the rest of the men out there who only hunted him for his body.

Dean idly tried to pick at the drying bloodstains on his arm as he blocked out a small amount of concern for the man who must be left alone in the yard to defend himself for saving Dean. Instead, the body-slave wished he had been clear in his message to the gladiator and that the Celt wouldn't seek him out more times.

What Dean had shouted was true; he could give Aidan nothing more. He was well aware of the state of his body, and his body was in shambles. Scarred, now bruised, marked like no proper pleasure-slave should be if he or she belonged to strategic, economic Masters, and most shaming of all; he was _ruined_.

Dean let out a sniff and heard the man beside him clear his throat. Disapprovingly, or just uncomfortably was difficult to say, but it did make Dean momentarily forget about the whole ordeal.

Instead he turned his attention to studying the man who guided him. The much taller man walked with a brisk pace and hardly acknowledged the battered fellow walking with him.

Secretly, Dean was longing for Corinna, but he knew she would be appalled by his appearance if she saw him now. No doubt would she be level-headed about it, but likely shocked as well by the unexpected violence aimed at him. No, it was better to stay with this strange slave until after he had seen Medicus and had been treated and cleaned up somewhat.

The pair turned a corner and Dean caught sight of the finer, blue fabric that fluttered by the man’s knees. All he knew about the man he had seen only a few times in passing was that he apparently was kept dressed in finer tunics and belts than the other house-slaves, and Dean with his currently earth-brown, shorter tunic.

This close, the man's features looked foreign but still reminded Dean of the ideal for Roman men, with his nose curved like the beak of an eagle, his impressive height, and the vividly black, soft hair that spoke of maintained youth even if the other slave looked older than Dean.

A faint stubble decorated his accentuated jaw, which meant he wasn’t forced to shave then. Intelligent blue eyes regarded the passage they were walking in, though the man’s posture left him with a slightly bowed back as if he was constantly, even out of sight, submissive to his Dominus.

Dean wiped his mouth again and his hand came away bloodied. His entire jaw ached and he knew he would be condemned to a disfigured and colourful face for a few days. He had experienced such violence before.

***

“How do you feel?”

A much lower voice than what he had expected came from the slave beside him.

“The pain subsides already,” Dean mumbled but tried so much to not sound weak. How could he know which person in this household would tell Domina or Dominus of the incident, and where blame would be placed? It was better to feign ease at his fairly grave injury that made him into a spectacle. Though, he couldn’t resist a snide remark at the silent, passive slave even though Dean knew plenty of not meddling with abuse against other slaves.

“Gratitude for leaving me to handle those gladiators on my own.”

The other one pressed his lips together in displeasure but kept staring ahead before he replied, “Blame me not, for would you have come to my aid if I was found in a similar position? No, that’s what I thought. Only a fool of a slave intervenes a fight amongst those who are stronger, carry more authority, and see purpose in taunting a lesser slave. I have my reasons for not speaking up, no matter what injustice that hits you.”

But regardless of the risk an intervention would pose,  Aidan had come to aid him and placed himself in the corner. Though, Dean was reluctant to dwell on the meaning of that action. He would rather be introduced to this slave he rarely saw and never had time to exchange words with.

"I am Dean, from Germania."

The lanky slave nodded and kept looking ahead.

"Richard."

Dean thought the name a strange one within the heart of the empire, so he figured the man came from a distant land where Dean had no knowledge of the naming of people. Dean tilted his head and applied a gentle, calm voice to coax more response from Richard.

“I’ve only seen you in passing, I believe.”

“That’s because I go with Dominus, and you with Domina. I’m assisting Dominus as an educated accountant for his business. I’m grateful that he entrusts me the wealth of this house, but I serve him loyally.”

Then Dean asked the standard question between servants he hadn’t had a chance to speak to yet. “It sounds like you’ve helped him for a long time if you’ve become so elevated. How long have you been here?”

Richard suddenly lost his previous countenance, and shyly bowed his head. “I was born in this villa.”

Dean halted on the spot, stunned by the revelation. “So, you’ve never seen freedom? Been a free man?”

Richard chuckled quietly and rubbed his hands together anxiously.

“When you are born from a slave-mother it makes you a slave from the moment you draw your first breath. But I have been around a little outside these walls. I’ve followed Dominus to the city market, to his acquaintances, and sometimes to other cities. I learned how to read and count on his orders.”

“What of your father? Was he a slave too?”

Immediately Richard’s face paled and his eyes grew darker and sterner as he stared ahead.

“The man who placed his seed in my mother’s womb was Dominus’ father. It was he who bought her many years ago. He never saw me as a son and I would rather not think about him.”

Dean walked a few more steps before piecing together something from Richard’s story. With wide eyes, he stared at the taller slave with horror in his voice.

“But that means that you and Faustus are…”

Richard suddenly grabbed him by the arm and hauled him sideways until Dean’s unsteady body was sent into the clay wall and the much taller slave descended on him, face contorted with untamed fury.

“Faustus is my Dominus and I am his slave! Dominus inherited me after his father had passed on to the afterworld, just like he inherited this house and all its slaves and gladiators. Dominus never did me any favours despite the common blood that runs in our veins. Swear that you don’t mention the unfortunate bond between me and him to Dominus! He hates being reminded of it and will punish us both for it. And I might in turn be inclined to harm you for pestering me. Do you understand?”

Richard’s hissing voice was terrifying and Dean found himself shaking or nodding his head frantically at the right moments. Richard must have been of same height as Aidan, because he could loom over him so easily.

Richard gave the collar of his tunic another rough tug before releasing Dean and stepping back.

Dean frowned and resumed walking as if nothing had passed between them, though his belly clenched with unease at the sudden display of violence from the accountant. He must very much resent his family, if one could call Richard's Dominus that.

“Are you going to show me the way to Medicus, or not?” he called angrily over his shoulder and heard a pair of sandals briskly pattering against the ground as Richard caught up with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A claim has been made. How will this affect the tense relationship between Aidan and Dean? Well, don't miss the next update. Thank you for the comments, the kudos, and for reading!
> 
> As you will notice, Aidan will call Dean boy only when he speaks of him to others, as is the custom. But he thinks of him as a man when he is in Dean’s presence. I thought Aidan would want to treat Dean with some dignity instead of the usual condescendence. 
> 
> Also, it pains me to write Dean so whump-y and defenseless, but remember that after years of abuse, he must have learned to not provoke or attack his masters or other violent men so to spare himself further torment and injury. It’s a strategy of self-preservation that he has developed which he must follow if he’s to survive his position in Roman hands. Thus, he must forget to fight back when antagonists touch him or hit him. But I promise that Dean will show some courage and rebellion later.
> 
> By the way; you're free to imagine the characters' looks, but personally I picture Richard with the short hair he sported as John Porter in the series Strike Back.
> 
> This chapter's FYI: Orator, man who is skilled in the art of public speaking, oratory. Very important trait for leaders and politicians who use rhetoric to mediate a message.
> 
> Richard's position as an accountant (yeah, I also think this is a suiting easter egg for Armitage fans) was a real slave 'occupation' within households in Rome. These slaves were usually highly valued and represented the house, thus they wore finer clothing than the other slaves. They were educated, generally better treated than slaves working with hard labour, but still, they had no rights in the Roman Law.


	7. Claim

After the unfortunate event in the training yard of Faustus’ ludus, everyone was being punished for something that only six gladiators were responsible for.

Domina punished Dominus after he had taken liberties with her personal body-slave. She had been enraged when she screamed that her body-slave was not a common errand boy who would serve filthy gladiators.

Dominus had argued that it was his coins that had bought Dean and that the slave really belonged to him in the household. For that opinion, Faustus had to pay a price for insulting the highest woman in his household. Domina banned him from her bed for several days without a notion of relenting even after Faustus had offered his apologies and sent valuable gifts to her chamber.

Dean was punished by Domina for flaunting his exotic beauty and provoking the gladiators, although he received a lesser punishment than he had experienced with other owners. He was to wash all the sheets with the laundresses until his wrists ached and his hands were throbbing from the scolding and scented water.

Without getting proper rest or binding, Dean’s arm continued to throb unpleasantly for several days after the abuse at the hands of gladiators. He could only hope that the pain would subside in time and that the damage wouldn’t be lasting. To have his arm and hand impaired would be disastrous in his position as a capable pleasure-slave.

So he gritted his teeth as he scrubbed the fabrics made heavier by water.

In the steamy room, surrounded by hard-working women, he had time to ponder what other troubles his supposed beauty had caused in this house. That day, after he had been attacked and then herded into Medicus’ quarters by the cold accountant slave Richard, Dean was exhausted.

Domina hadn’t taken the news well when he entered her chamber and had to explain the colourful bruises on his face and his bound wrist cradled against his ribs. She had accused him of bringing this upon himself by remaining loyal not to her but to her husband.

When Corinna had attempted to mitigate Domina’s hurt, while her eyes stayed wide with shock at the poor state of Dean, Domina had slapped her with her hand that carried plenty of rings.

Dean had been distraught when his friend reeled from the sudden blow, but stood his ground as an obedient slave. The rings had grazed Corinna’s smooth skin but the streaks were shallow and would heal soon. More likely it was the act of dominance that had reminded Corinna of her place in the house.

After hissing insults to both slaves, Domina had gathered her shawl around her shoulders and purposely marched towards Faustus’ office. Her shrill yells had lasted for a long time, occasionally interrupted by roars of equal anger from her husband.

The next morning, Doctore was called into Faustus’ office and had to endure his master’s rage that was heard throughout the villa.

Dean had dwelled on his toes with Corinna behind a pillar, concealed by a curtain. The house had been eerily quiet as all its habitants listened to the words Dominus had to say.

Corinna had stood behind Dean and caressed his shoulders while she carefully pressed her blemished cheek to the bite mark on Dean’s.

“I assure you; this doesn’t happen often here. Their fury will pass. You have nothing to fear.”

Dean hadn’t voiced his doubt to her when she perhaps needed to believe her own comforting words. No matter how unfair it was, it was those who deserved the opposite of punishment that were the ones receiving oral and physical reprimands.

Although, it was a small comfort that Faustus had loudly promised Doctore that there would be repercussions for Dean being hounded in the yard like a hare. Those responsible for the assault would see justice dealt.

Dominus demanded explanation and compensation from Doctore’s payment.

Naturally, the sure Parthian man insisted that he had stepped in when the men had turned too brutal but that he couldn’t nag them for every little interaction with other slaves. It was a mutual balance between master of the whip and his volatile students.

Besides, Doctore had been too occupied with raising lazy, resting gladiators after the drink to look after wayward body-slaves.

Faustus however wasn’t swayed by Doctore’s reasons for not ending the hunt for Dean.

Doctore’s financial punishment meant in the end that he in the following days sought out his own revenge by driving the gladiators harder until even the most seasonal of them dreaded dawn and cursed sundown when they were either going out to train, or aching from protesting muscles.

But the intensified training did pay off. The men had learned their lesson for a while and as if they had come to a collective understanding, they left Dean alone when he had to run errands with messages between Dominus and Doctore.

The men in the yard kept watching him, but not for long and no one pawed at him or even came within a few feet from him.

Dean wondered what caused the sudden change in attitude when the gladiators only glanced at him without cursing or saying anything, and whether Aidan was behind it.

The Britannic man kept sweeping his dark gaze over his fellow brothers whenever Dean had to cross the sand of the yard, but he also cast glances at Dean.

Had Aidan with that strong, firm voice and the contained wrath in his eyes solved this trouble all alone the other day? In that case, he was a talented man not only with his sword but also with his words.

It also meant that Faustus’ gladiators were better suited for the upcoming games in Neapolis where some would have the honour of being chosen to fight in the arena and maybe make a name for themselves, and bring more coins to the house, like Faustus had proclaimed to appease his sour wife.

No fighting between the gladiators meant that each man could train better and be prepared to be chosen for the arena by their master.

With the promise of more jewelry and fabric, Domina finally forgave Faustus and accepted his proposal concerning Dean.

Being the patri familias of the house, Dominus outruled her in the end, and Dean had to learn a new trade.

Dominus decided to groom Dean into a servant for the ludus and lend the other house-slaves a pair of hands. It wasn’t as if there were a lot for him to do between Domina waking up to prepare herself for the day, and her rituals before going to bed. Besides, any slave should strive to be busy rather than idle and costly, unless the slave was looking for punishment.

In a few days Dean was carrying out chests with wooden equipment and weapons for the sparring sessions, bringing water, helping the cook serve meals under the hay-roof sheltering benches and tables from the sun at midday warming the rest of the yard.

Then, he was grateful for whatever had caused the gladiator to not pay much attention to him. Especially since his bruised wrist remained aching and the fading bite mark on his cheek made him feel embarrassed.

***

One evening some days after the conflict in the yard where Aidan had defended the elusive golden-haired pleasure-slave, before the announcement from the guards that the gladiators were to return to their cells and sleep, Aidan was sauntering through the corridors of the lower level in the house.

The coolness inside was always a balm to his skin after a day out in the shining sun, but he was restless and used to walk around, exchange word with brothers, and evaluate his position in life before he went to bed.

Recently, he had found himself even more restless when he couldn’t pursue companions to bring to share his bed.

He had been allowed to keep Dean away from the others’ touches but paid for it with carnal solitude he was unused to. He missed the warm bodies beside him, ecstatic sighs, and hungry mouths.

His own hands could make his desire subside but not quench it fully.

And so, Aidan walked the corridors and grew frustrated with his hasty decision to rely on a reluctant, demure body-slave being the sole person in the villa allowed to pleasure him.

Aidan came around a corner and was about to pass the wine cellar which was separated from the gladiator’s territory by a wall and a locked gate made of iron bars when he spotted a figure standing near the shelves in the room.

Despite the gloom where the flickering light from a torch on the wall beside Aidan couldn’t reach, Aidan recognized Dean who was rummaging through the collection of various wines in clay urns lying on the shelves.

That man was a wonder to behold when he bent to search the lower shelves. Aidan greedily took in the round shape of his arse and the bared thighs when the tunic rode up.

Eager for more from the captivating beauty, Aidan needed to make himself heard.

“Dean,” he called out softly but Dean flinched anyway and turned on his feet, with a spooked look on his face, or at least where the shadows didn’t hit his pale features.

Aidan smiled at him apologetically. “I never believed I would be left alone to lay eyes on you again so soon.”

Dean twisted his mouth grimly and he seemed to be dragging his palms nervously against the sides of his tunic.

“Nor I you,” he replied shortly and Aidan suspected it was insult rather than statement tinting the man’s voice.

Aidan dropped the smile and ventured closer to the gate until he was offered a whole look at Dean’s shadowed form through one of the holes between the flat bars.

“How are you faring? After a brawl like that with those pigs I hate to call brothers…”

“It’s of no concern to you, but if only to rid myself of your overbearing presence, I can inform you that I stand here instead of being ordered to bed-rest in Medicus’ quarters and therefore I must be ‘well’.”

Aidan’s jaw tensed at the animosity pouring from the bitter slave but instead of succumbing to anger and a spiteful answer that a declaration of gratitude for Aidan stepping in to spare Dean further abuse from gladiators would be most welcome at any moment now, the Celt held his tongue and observed the slave who kept fidgeting with his hands nervously even as he didn’t make a move to take an urn and leave.

Aidan tilted his head sideways and inside his chest a bird sang when the golden-haired man apparently chose to wait for him to speak more.

“Dean. Sun god of my dreams. Step out from the shadows so I may cast one more look on your brilliance.”

The slave looked at him with guarded eyes but he nevertheless gingerly moved his feet a few small steps forward but stayed out of Aidan’s reach through the bars.

Aidan’s brows lowered when he saw up close what damage his brothers had caused in their mad quest for a touch or a quick fuck.

“How is your lip?”

It seemed as if his words made the slave conscious about the crimson red line that marked the split in the bottom lip, because Dean lowered his face to hide it in the shadow created by his head. He turned away for a moment, seemingly to finally choose an amphora from a shelf and hold it by the handles on either side of the neck of the urn, but resting it against his belly, like a shield of clay between him and the gladiator.

“It was a clean punch. No grain of sand got in from the fist. The scratch will be completely sealed by skin within two days, says Medicus."

Aidan gritted his teeth. Two days was two days too long for his Apollo who deserved no torment. Aidan lowered his searching eyes and nodded to Dean’s form when Dean chanced a glance up at him.

“And your arm?”

This time, the slave lost his hint of sure nature and he hesitated with his answer. Aidan assessed the situation quickly and his restless fingers curled around the bars.

“It pains you when you are ordered to perform some tasks, like getting the wine. I can see you can’t hold the urn firmly with both hands.” Dean raised blue eyes that bled dark with silent fury. “I can manage when I rest the bottom against my belly.”

“Of course you can,” Aidan muttered and the two men glared sourly at each other in mutual anger for a moment. Aidan somehow began to suspect that their reason for confrontation might have been the recent oral quarrel on the yard the other day, but the true, underlying cause was their night and morning spent first joined, then separated within one small cell.

At length, Aidan made a sweeping gesture with his hand towards Dean.

“I meant to look for you. I bring tidings that I hope will please you. Can you spare a moment here with me in solitude?”

“Be quick about it. I can’t be expected to search for a certain spiced wine for too long.”

Aidan grew irritated with Dean for this cheeky attitude so he ignored wrapping his words with rabbit fur and just admit his secret.

“I’ve claimed you, and my brothers know it and respect it.“

The smaller man frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Aidan replied slowly, “It means that you are the one I go to when I want pleasure. In exchange, my brothers can’t touch you or barely speak to you. I laid my claim amongst my brothers after the brawl. They recognized my right to have you for myself. I’ve saved you from further assaults and unwanted attention.”

Dean snapped, “But you've tied me to _you,_ all the same. What in Jupiter’s name made you think you could do such a thing?!”

Aidan raked a hand through his locks at the sight of an upset slave.

“It was an idea in the heat of a fight! I had to protect you lest you end up being the next beaten whore in some vile man’s stinking cot on this side of the bars! Many of the gladiators aren’t as friendly as I am, Dean.”

“So despite what I said in the yard, you will still seek me out more days and nights?”

Aidan made an apologetic gesture when he stated, “I won’t force you into anything, but you have to understand; I have needs. Not like the ordinary often needs of a man, but I’ll need you all the same sometimes. You’re a body-slave; you can treat me.”

But Dean was only shaking his head and stepping back into the shadows.

“I refuse to become a part of your addiction for bodies. I’ve heard plenty of your appetite in this villa but you won’t ever have me _that_ way willingly even if I’m formally commanded to see you. I would rather take another beating than visit you again!”

“Dean? Dean!”

The body-slave dumped the amphora into the sand below the shelves, risking breaking it with the force, before he snatched a different urn from a higher shelf. He nearly stumbled and lost his grip on the heavier container before he hefted it against his hip and climbed the stairs leading to the upper floor of the villa. He didn’t dignify Aidan with another word.

It was Aidan who was left unhinged in shadows now. Maybe he should have been gentler with his words, or not have mentioned the arrangement of claim at all.

However, beside the frustration and regret in his mind resided some amusing incomprehension and admiration for a secretive but fascinatingly frustrating man of the North. If Aidan was to see his beautiful man again, he needed to make amends and be kinder.

He told himself he would behave and be amiable in the future. He could endure the brutal nightmares during his lonely nights if it meant he was allowed to look upon and maybe exchange words with Dean. He truly would try to be a better man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so it' been two years since I updated this?!? Too long, since I have pieces of the entire story in my computer, but real life and hiatus and bleh made it hard for me to complete the next chapter and move on with the story. I apologize and hope that some of the old fans and new ones remain and are willing to read this chapter. I believe it won't take more than a few months to bring you the next chapter, especially since I've gotten my inspiration back now. I'll do my best and I appreciate you all who have read, commented or sent me kudos throughout the long hiatus. Thank you for your patience and kindness.
> 
> This chapter's FYI: the urns containing wine are called amphoras and they can be designed with a pointy bottom which means they have to be leaning against something or lying down.


	8. Preparations

Dean couldn't deny it any more. Despite his intentions, Aidan consumed his thoughts during the days while he carried out his duties.

Yes, he confessed to himself as he sat on his knees in Domina's bedroom and polished her jewelry, he was angry with the Britannic gladiator for staking a claim over him, for expecting Dean to come to his bed and give pleasure whenever Aidan was permitted such rewards from Faustus.

Despite Aidan's recent attempt to explain that he had stepped in front of Dean in order to protect him from further advancements of the other brazen gladiators, Dean considered it embarrassing and uncomfortable to need to belong to another man.

What if Aidan called for him one evening? What if he grew tired of Dean's hiding and demanded attention in a more violent way?

After a few blissful, healing months in a new household, was Dean to be used yet again and be insulted and harmed for another man's sick pleasure?

Dean's hands stopped working the oiled cloth over the shining arm-ring and rested limply in his lap. He truly didn't look forward to the day when he couldn't escape the other man's touch. Dean bowed his head and felt his growing locks flow over his ear and dangle freely.

"No, Aidan is not that kind of man," he murmured to himself and believed his own words as truth and not as a foolish reassurement. For all the men Dean had met, Aidan carried no similar sign of malicious intent, and Dean had become good at perceiving that notion even when it appeared shielded behind a level-headed, polite facade.

Aidan might be rough in his actions, rash in his thinking and daring with his flirting like the fighting contestant upon the sand of the arena, and his dominance still agitated Dean in its unforeseeable nature. But Aidan had only placed gentle hands on Dean's skin during their one shared night and during the skirmish in the yard. He had expressed concern over Dean's wellbeing. Aidan wouldn't rape him the moment he got him alone.

In this, Dean trusted and he inhaled deeply to calm the fluttering in his belly. His tragic secret and greatest shame would still be intact and kept from Dominus.

Yet, Dean needed to start acting more comfortable and not be perceived as a skittish, weak pleasure-slave to prove his worth in the ludus. He needed to ask Corinna for advice on how to handle a group of gladiators. He needed to...

"Dean?"

Dean turned to the quiet voice with alarm, all thoughts interrupted by the presence of Nona entering the room.

Nona stepped closer carefully; cautious and tentative even when Domina was absent.

”Nona. It is you,” Dean got out and tried to calm himself from the fright.

Nona warned with a serious face, "You shouldn't sit still and appear idle if Domina arrives."

"Apologies. It will not happen again," Dean stammered and rose up on his knees to place the arm-ring on the table next to the other shining objects.

Nona however tittered girlishly as was her habit.

"Be at ease, my friend. I am not Domina and shall not reveal this. You never seem lazy or absent-minded otherwise. However, I wonder what caused you to ressemble a statue."

Dean glanced back at the gleaming rings, bracelets, earrings and other fine metal-work and chose his next words carefully.

"My thoughts were elsewhere for a moment. Perhaps even in my homeland. I still miss it." He didn't wish for those he worked side by side with daily to know of his predicament and involvement with a gladiator as frivolous as Aidan. Aidan had only mentioned that the other gladiators knew of this arrangement. Dean assumed the claim wasn't important enough to need Faustus' formal permission since Aidan had lived longer in the house and learned the rules.

Nona tilted her head and placed a hand on her hip before she stated, "I thought it was Aidan that occupied your mind. He looks at you a lot when we serve in the yard."

Dean ducked his head down and folded the linen in his hand to occupy his nervous fingers.

"I suppose he sees me as a novelty in the villa. Given his reputation it's the new people he find intriguing for a while before he loses interest," he deflected and shrugged to appear not particularly interested in Aidan. To reveal that could risk others misinterpreting him and Dean had learned the hard way that he better keep things and information to himself lest someone else use the information against him. However he hadn’t expected other house-slaves to notice where Aidan’s eyes wandered in the yard.

Nona sniffed and looked a litte dejected at the lack of explanation but then she smiled again and smoothed down crinkles in her tunic and snickered lightly, ”Oh, I suppose you know more about him than I do. After all, I’ve only been serving meals to the gladiators a few times.”

Dean let her believe her own conclusion without adding anything more to the subject. Instead he asked when Nona remained beside him; all but jumping on the spot, "Why did you come here in the first place, Nona?"

"I was looking for you. Dominus and Doctore have decided on who will be given the chance to fight for this ludus in the upcoming games of Neapolis. Doctore is telling the candidates downstairs. Dominus told Domina this and Domina told Corinna who is passing the news to the house-slaves who needs to know."

"Why do we need to know? Or rather; why do I hear this of you?"

Nona clapped her hands together with excitement.

"Because the games is in three days and so the gladiators will have to go through the preparations. Dominus has established the same preparations before each game because he takes comfort in constant routines and plenty of time for the gladiators to be ready in body and mind for the fights. The participating gladiators will get larger, better rations and more water now, so you should anticipate an order from Domina soon to serve in the yard again. I don’t think Dominus will request anything else from us two, except for the customary massage in two days.”

"The massage?” Dean frowned and Nona began smiling like a cat who caught a mouse.

”Yes, all the fighting gladiators will receive a thorough massage from the competent hands of the house-slaves. Corinna will participate, too, as our guide. It’s important that we loosen their muscles and make the blood flow with energy for the games the evening before the fight. Often I’ve found that the more we touch them, the hungrier they get for having us in their beds, but since that can’t happen on that last night they go out into the arena with a desire to win and be rewarded with a slave or whore in their cell. It’s another strategy of Faustus to make his gladiators do their best and survive the fights.”

”So we will only have to massage them, then? Not let their hands wander?” Dean verified and got a wink in return.

”Good Corinna is tasked to overwatch the slaves and Doctore the gladiators, so it’s difficult to hide imtimate caresses from their eagle eyes. But sometimes there’s opportunities to be found for quick discoveries. However we are to prepare those who are new to this duty, like you, so we all perform the same massage even if our hands will linger on different areas where each gladiator require more attention."

Dean nodded his understanding but felt uneasy at the thought of meeting so many gladiators again even if they would be supervised by Doctore. He knew from previous experience how arousing and maddening a massage could be for a virile man, so there was a possibility, given Nona’s statement, that someone would dare to touch him, or force him to touch them.

Perhaps this was the bad news that Dean had learned always followed any progress he made in his life; that the respite he had gotten after Aidan’s claim now would be ruined by a gladiator taking advantage of a situation from where he couldn’t escape. Well, Dean accepted the fate he had been given by the gods even if it was a bitter brew to accept.

He could only hope that he would massage a reasonable gladiator instead of a perverted brute.

Suddenly curious for more details, Dean asked, "Do you know who is to fight, then?"

The strange fluttering inside returned as he awaited Nona’s answer. Maybe this was the exciting part of working in a ludus with gladiators; the games, the choosing of candidates, their chances of becoming champions, of bringing coins back to Faustus, of simply surviving the fights to live another day, or of to die upon the sand before hundreds of people.

But when Dean thought of what fate might await Aidan, he suddenly wasn't certain he wanted to know the names of the fighters.  

***

Dean had rehearsed and memorized his tasks after the lessons from Corinna the previous days. Nervousness still affected his mind when he thought that soon he would be facing the gladiators chosen to represent Faustus’ ludus in the arena the next day.

A few selected men would be treated to a massage. Afterwards they were to eat, drink, and go to sleep in their cells not long after sundown so they would be well-rested the next morning.

It appeared ominous like a ritual to Dean when he followed the other selected house-slaves down the stairs and through the guarded open gate in the wine-cellar leading to the area in the house where the gladiators resided.

They entered the large room beside the smaller with the water-filled pool where the gladiators could clean themselves in one gradus deep, cool water after each day in the sun.

The house-slaves spread out and came to stand by one table each that had been placed in rows and columns like a smaller version of a marching Roman legion.

Along with the others, Dean began preparing his station. Blankets of lines were spread to soften the surface of the tables. Scented and thick oil, finer than usual, was poured from an urn into smaller wooden bowls and distributed to all slaves. The striglils lay ready beside the bowls on one end of the tables for scraping away the oil if the gladiators wanted that.

Corinna walked around and inspected the stations and occasionally whispered instructions to some who then adjusted their stations. Dean took a deep breath and the smell of scented oil managed to make him relax somewhat.

Then a cool hand touched his shoulder and there was Corinna leaning into his ear.

”Excellent station, Dean. You will surely be most capable of tending to whoever is placed on your table.”

”I’ve massaged men before. I can handle this,” Dean promised and Corinna gave him an encouraging press with her hand before moving on to the next slave.

Dean treasured the praise and took heart that he knew what to do. He wasn’t alone in this and if he could help a man find peace before the day of the games, perhaps that man would survive.

There certainly was some form of power in standing in the room to be the one controlling submissive gladiators.

Just as Dean forgot his nervousness, Doctore entered the room from the pool room and was leading a row of six talking, joking gladiators. The arrival of noisy gladiators immediately disturbed the settled tranquility and the slaves began whispering to each other before Corinna sternly commanded them all to be silent and await their individual gladiator.

Dean understood the unreal wave of heat in the cool basement; it often happened if expectant, giddy men dressed down to only their subligaria knew they would get slaves to touch them for a long time. Caresses could easily be taken for interest and envoking lust for fucking like base animals.

Dean could tell that many of the six chosen men were thinking of fucking rather than the risk of dying, which of course was something more pleasant to focus one’s mind on.

There was of course the champion of Neapolis; Taurus, who had a lot of back to dig into given his build. He was followed by a composed Sergius who according to the other slaves became a wild dog enjoying himself in the arena and Dean avoided his gaze after the slapping and biting he had been subjected to in the yard by that man.

The senewy Gaul Ambiorix with the cunning eyes darting around the room and collecting details for him to dwell on made Dean shudder on the inside.

Two men who had recently before Dean's arrival been appointed to gladiators walked together and exchanged words. Behind them, Dean finally noticed the last gladiator.

Aidan was standing tall and proud with hands behind his back near the shadow of the wall where the torchlight shone poorly.

Doctore instructed sternly to the assembled gladiators, ”You may choose your table. If two choose the same, I shall solve the conflict before any quarrell needs occur. No-one of you is new to the massage, so I don't have to remind you of the fact that you are forbidden to demand pleasure from the slaves. They give to you what they feel with their hands you need, and nothing more. Afterwards you may cleanse yourself in the pool in the other room. Go, and be quiet when you exchange words with the slaves so you’re not disturbing your brothers."

Dean expected them to come to him and managed to resist the urge to avoid their glances since he wanted to know who he would get immediately. Some looked his way but steered clear.

”Lower those hopeful eyes, sweet pullus. Some other time I’ll be yours,” Sergius let out with a teasing smirk as he passed Dean and went for Nona’s station.

Aidan had begun to pace like a wolf in the shadow of the wall and waited there for something Dean finally figured out. The Celt wanted to see if anyone dared choose him despite his claim, Dean realized. Dean could barely see Aidan’s features in the gloom he remained in, but there was a certain danger visible on Aidan’s face.

Frustrated with his ways to ensure his ownership of Dean which left Dean as the embarrassed, last slave without a gladiator at his station, Dean looked down at his tools and adjusted them to have something to do until the sulking gladiator grew up from his childish, insulting ways and came over already.

When all the other gladiators had laid down on their bellies on the tables and finally chosen their individual slave, Dean noticed, only then did Aidan come to him.

”Dean,” Aidan spoke softly and Dean nearly bristled with humiliation and anger at his audacity to speak with soft words, yet make Dean go through rejection from all the other gladiators.

”Lie down,” he all but growled and stepped to the end of the table to pick up the bowl and start the massage the other slaves had already begun. ”Feet here, head over there,” he explained with a clipped tone and heard a wince.

”I’ve aggravated you.”

”Please lie down so I may begin the routine,” Dean repeated and wasn’t above begging to not be seen as the lesser slave who only the last gladiator could accept. Thank the gods, Aidan climbed onto the table and turned and rather carefully stretched his long legs so the tools weren’t pushed off the table by his feet on either side of the items.

With the gladiator laid out flat on the table, Dean didn’t feel grounded despite him being the one standing of the two of them. Even while relaxing, Aidan displayed waves of taut muscles from his long calves to the clean back that was painted in brown and golden amber by the flickering torches in the cellar. The power was with Aidan and Dean didn’t like that when he had imagined a different scenario for the massage. But he knew he had no choice but to carry on and tend to Aidan.

He dipped his hands into the oil and let the fat, smooth liquid drench his palms while he asked quietly the first required question.

”Anywhere you’re hurting and I need to be mindful of?”

Aidan brought up his muscular arms and crossed them to prop his chin on them and cast a glance back at Dean.

”I’m asking you the same question. Is your wrist fully healed since last I saw you alone?”

”Never mind that,” Dean snapped and tried to forget the painfull stings in his wrist that had been present when he had carried heavy burdens in the past few days. Truthfully, the hurt came less and less frequently so he was healed.

Mostly healed.

Enough healed to endure a session of massaging.

”You didn’t answer me,” Aidan pointed out with a frown and then Dean had enough. He simply grabbed Aidan’s arms and guided them back not violently but firmly so Aidan’s head lost the support and bumped into the table below.

”Ow,” came a muffled sound from the gladiator before he shifted and rested his head side down on the linen and put his arms comfortably along his sides.

”You nearly flattened my nose. You must be very angry with me,” Aidan whispered.

”Hold your tounge and let me work. I’ll show you how hurt I am,” Dean replied snarkily and dug into Aidan’s back with brisk, grabby movements that would make the blood flow faster rather than make the man sleepy with peace. He imagined himself as a baker and Aidan the dough that had to be handled with hard, strong hands.

Aidan’s arms quickly came up again but this time to partly hide his reddening face, and his eyes squeezed shut.

"Gods, pity me for being at the mercy of a vengeful beauty," Aidan groaned into the crook of his elbow when Dean's thumbs dug fiercely into the flesh on either side of his spine.

”Is it possible for me to yield? I was wrong about doubting the strength of your wrist. Apologies for making you ferocios like a scorned god when I should be worshipping you. Perhaps be a little softer on my nape?” Aidan murmured through gritted teeth.

Dean felt satisfaction for causing him pain and discomfort while still doing what was commanded of him. He had just started sliding his fingers roughly over Aidan’s shoulders and up the back of his neck to the hairline, not minding in the least if locks of dark hair caught in his fingers and he had to tug on the tangled hair to be able to continue the motion.

Aidan’s skin pricked by what must be the spreading sensitiveness in his scalp and Dean decided to keep pulling Aidan’s ridiculously long hair like a teasing child.

When he looked up to see the rest of the room, he noticed a calmer sense however. There lay pleased gladiators surrendering to kneading hands of slaves. Soft moans, uncertain questions followed by hushed instructions, and the occasional pop or slick sound when the bodies were plied from tension filled the room.

Not willing to earn himself a reprimand from Corinna for provoking Aidan into disturbing the others with his pained grunts, Dean eased the weight he put on his hands and began stroking the man softly along the large expanse of the back.

A different, querying noise left Aidan and Dean whispered, "Just stay quiet."

To his surprise, no clever remark or flirtation met his words, but Aidan sunk if possible more into the table and let Dean roam as he pleased.

Dean applied pressure, sought out tender bulges, avoided bruises and fell into deep contemplation.

A map of old scars showed on Aidan's back but few from whippings. There was power in the muscles, and strength as the left and right side were equally large because of Aidan wielding both sword and shield in the arena. Dean wondered what Aidan’s back would look like after he had fought in the upcoming games at the arena of Neapolis.

A queasy feeling filled him at the thought of all this bronzed, healthy skin and flesh covered in wounds, blood, grime and bruises. Dean could feel sympathy for anyone who suffered violence. As a victim of intentional harm, he never wished for anyone else to be subjected to the same things. Even if Aidan irritated him, he didn’t deserve to have his magnificant body maimed and brutalized.

The Germanic man soon found that his hands caressed rather than kneaded Aidan’s back and the man under his fingers breathed slower and deeper as if slumbering, with complete trust for Dean. The body-slave didn’t want to waste that trust by making Aidan hurt anymore.

Dean grew significantly warmer from the work and the oil on his palms made them slide unhindered on Aidan's skin. The Celt was a stunning man, no doubt. Maybe not so much in Roman eyes, but to Dean's eyes, being a Germanic barbarian of the previously free lands in the North, Aidan was worth praising according to him, even with his trimmed but still thriving body hair.

Dean had felt some desire for the aesthetic person when the two of them had shared their night together. It was a pity that Aidan's hesitance towards Dean's body in the morning light had ruined any hubris Dean harboured that he perhaps was desirable for more than a few moments of fucking.

However, Aidan must enjoy his slaves without bruises given his insistent questions about the marks from Dean’s previous owner that first night and then the way he had protected Dean from further abuse in the yard. But that troubled streak in Aidan couldn’t exist because of concern for Dean’s health as much as for his outer beauty. He had proven that motive clearly when he had claimed Dean without his consent and expected payment of flesh.

But if Aidan only wanted him as his own pretty pullus, then why did he persist in talking to Dean wihout mentioning wishes to fuck him? This man was complicated like the omens meant to be read by Roman augurs to tell the future.

Dean bit his lip at the confusing thoughts and spread his fingertips over Aidan's left shoulder.

A hiss left Aidan and his body flinched sideways, away from Dean’s hand and the moment of peace was stolen from Dean. He withdrew his hands with a gasp and saw Aidan whip his head to the other side so he could look up at Dean with bleary eyes.

"Apologies,” Aidan panted, ”my shoulder carries soreness unknown to me. Perhaps a gentler touch so I can carry my shield better tomorrow?"

Dean nodded, amazed that Aidan trusted him to massage the shoulder again after the stab of pain his earlier touch had caused.

But Aidan couldn’t hide the hitched breath when Dean began stimulating the sore joint with longer strokes.

His palm reached Aidan's upper arm and the dark hair there tickled his hand before the oil made it stick to the skin. On the way up, Dean passed the tender shoulder and ended the journey in Aidan's nape under the now glistening black curls. A shiver passed through the gladiator as he massaged his nape.

Dean leaned down and whispered into Aidan's ear, "Potent blood is streaming past the shoulder but not through the sore spot. You will recover from the hurt faster if permission is given to use my skills on you."

Aidan mumbled, "I trust you."

"Endure one moment more of pain, then see pain lifted," Dean replied, then grimaced as he was forced to do more harm to Aidan in order to heal him.

He folded his hands with one thumb on top of the other, then pressed down directly on the place in the shoudler.

A startled sound came from Aidan, and he couldn't prevent a small jerk, but nothing left the gritted teeth; not even a curse.

Dean drew deep breaths and let the blunt pressure go on and on. Slowly he began to feel the hardness waver in the muscles and only then did he let up. He watched the spot turn from pale yellow to hotly red when warmth flowed into the spot as a response to the absent pressure. Aidan was left gasping into the crook of his arm.

"The pain leaves me even when torture is still there."

"Your body responds to pain with healing blood. Soon you will feel better."

After a while, Corinna told them all in a hushed voice that it was time to finish the session and Dean began to stroke all over the back to warm the muscles once more before touching Aidan only lightly, and lastly lifting his hands from the smooth skin.

A sigh came, followed by a contented hum before the Celt slowly opened his glassy eyes and found Dean’s gaze.

Aidan parted his lips slowly as if unsure what words to speak but was cut off by Corinna whose melodic voice filled the room.

”Sit up but don’t stand until body is awake once more. Drink water to clear minds and find rest after this massage. Let body recover and balance returned.”

"And find time to strip my cock which also awakened," Taurus sniggered, but when the gladiators began to sit up on the tables, it became obvious that the champion wasn't the only one affected by the massage.

But overall, the mood in the room was relaxed and calmer. Some gladiators expressed their respect and gratitude to the pleased slaves and slowly some men left and from the next room sighs and splashes were heard when they climbed into the pool.

Aidan also got up and swung his legs down the side of the bench so he could sit slouched with a sleepy gaze and flushed face. Dean felt better when Aidan showed no similar state like his brothers under the subligaria.

Dean patted his hands dry on a strip of linen and glanced at the boneless gladiator putting trust in his surroundings instead of constantly expecting attacks. The power in Aidan’s potent body was currently allowed to slumber which allowed Dean to see the rare softness of the gladiator.

Dean sat down beside Aidan to better wipe the excess of oil from his hair and Aidan bent his head to let Dean’s hands move easier.

He had never met a man with sensuality like Aidan's. It moved something inside him, something he had long thought was dead at a burned down farm in a valley in Germania.

“Gratitude.” Aidan spoke quietly, all jest vanished now, and aimed a short smile at Dean before raking a hand through his hanging locks and bringing them back over his head for a moment.

Dean found himself lowering his eyes to inspect his own sandals and muttered, “It was nothing. It was merely orders fulfilled.”

However his words were met with, “Nevertheless you fulfilled your orders with care and a wish to make me better. I believe my shoulder won’t pain me much longer now.”

Suddenly a hand splayed lightly over Dean’s bared knee, enveloping it in warm callouses. Dean felt himself flush with partly indignation, partly dread, but also something gentler at the tender and not roaming touch.

“Tomorrow is the day of the games. I wish to see you later this evening. The gate in the wine-cellar will open for you. I’ll be waiting for you there,” Aidan murmured while looking straight at Dean with a glimmer of ember in his brown eyes.

“Why? What do you want?” Dean retorted cautiously and felt Aidan tapping his fingers against his leg.

“We have things to discuss. I want unresolved matters to be a weight off my mind before I fight for my life in the arena.”

Dean did notice the lingering touch on his leg and lifted his eyes. “I wager you want other things than merely a conversation.”

Aidan dipped his chin and let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, maybe some intimacy for luck, but nothing too strenuous as is Dominus’ command. You tempted me today. I still feel your hands upon me,” he admitted.

Soft eyes searched for Dean’s darting gaze and Dean rushed out, “Rest assure, gladiator; I will meet you tonight, and we shall talk.”

Dean would take this opportunity to finally speak his mind about how Aidan had been pestering him while pretending to do him favours. The hand lifted from his leg and Aidan replied with a relieved voice, ”Maybe you’re not so angry with me anymore that you wish I die tomorrow?” he pondered.

Dean turned his face to the tools and grimaced, but wasn’t noticed. While it was true that he didn’t pray for Aidan’s death, he wasn’t comletely thrilled with the request that Aidan see him later and probably ask for his touch. Maybe Aidan would execute his power over him and finally demand payment with his body for the protection Aidan offered. How could Dean argue against that expectation? He figured that he could endure one man abusing him like so many had in the past instead of being abandoned to a whole ludus enjoying him. But on the inside, Dean still swore at the gods for making Aidan first appear kind and then turn cruel over and over.

Dean only shrugged instead of answering and kept his head bowed shyly as he heard Aidan leaving the table and passing by him. A whiff of sun and oil followed in his wake and hit Dean’s lungs. Dean made sure to catch Aidan’s voice in the next room before he dared lifting his head and beginning to clean his station. Why he so persistently avoided the gladiator’s gaze now, he had no idea.

Absently, he realized that while Aidan had claimed to still be able to feel his hands, Dean now felt the touch of Aidan’s hand still warming his knee in some strange sort of trade.

***

Later when the house-slaves where dismissed from the duties of the day by their retired Domina and Dominus, Dean left the slaves’ quarters while pretending to having forgotten one more duty. He picked up a heap of folded linen in the laundresses working room and made his way through the quiet villa to deliver the linen to the pool room below.

As he carefully descended the stairs with his clean burden he saw Aidan and a guard by the gate that usually remained locked unless slaves where ordered to do something for the gladiators. Coins changed owner and then the guard looked down the coridor instead of at the arrived body-slave.

Dean hesitantly took in the turned guard and stood still in the wine-cellar but Aidan held out his hand and made a coaxing motion.

”I’ve purchased opened lock, silent tongue, and averted eyes for a moment. You can find your way back here safely when we’re done.”

Dean dared to step through when he thought about his need to express his opinions on their arrangement before the games, lest Aidan was victorious and earned himself another reward and wanted him again. That couldn’t happen because Dean’s shameful secret needed to be kept from the light.

Aidan escorted him to the pool room where the gladiators’ used strigils lay scattered on a shelf and oil danced on the surface of the nearly still water in the empty pool.

Dean walked to the shelf to place the linen there, then kept standing with his hands dragging on the fabric, on the verge of regretting his decision to see Aidan alone. He could feel the urgent weight of Aidan’s gaze upon him.

”Will the guard let me return when we’re done? I cannot be here for long without anyone wondering about my absence.”

Behind him, Aidan sounded less thrilled when Dean kept his back to him. ”I bought that promise with my own earned coins as your eyes saw. But speak not of return yet.”

Dean chuckled and felt the drum of his heartbeat when frustration flared to life.

”So what do you want me here for? I risk far more than you right now; being here without escort by guards or permission. I would prefer to go back as soon as we are done.”

A short grunt came behind his back and then the tell-tale noice of Aidan raking his hand through his long hair reached Dean.

”Stop acting the sacrifice to the gods for a moment. Remember who risks Dominus’ fury by not sleeping in my cell at this hour to be ready for a fight where I might die tomorrow. I do not ususally break the rules for the sake of a body-slave.”

Dean spun around with a creased brow and hissed, ”It was you who asked for my presence here! You _wanted_ to break that rule despite you pretending to be reluctant now. So speak to me or I will leave and not waste time.”

Aidan looked taller now when Dean saw him in an empty room but his earlier impression of the gladiator told him that Aidan wouldn’t be violent with a slave. Dean dared to stand his ground. Aidan’s eyes narrowed.

”You speak like a fanged snake spitting poison at me when I am civil to you. You began the massage with punishing hands like flying ravens landing upon my back. Then you change like the other side of a coin and allow caresses to pass between us. You watch me in the yard when you bring the meal for us. I sense no hate then in you. I’m asking you to tell me the reason why you feel such wrath so I may understand or possibly change my ways.”

Aidan held out his hands in a lost motion and invited Dean to reply. Something unfurled deep in the hidden hurt within Dean and he balled his hands into fists that pressed against his tunic.

“You ask why I am angry. You shall receive answer. You see everyone as their own person here. You make no difference between man and woman when you talk to them. But when you see me, when you speak to me; you see only the pleasure-slave’s potential which you may gain from cunning protection and words of debts. Your admiration only extends to my body and not to my soul. You attempt comparing me to a god all the time yet you show no respect or kindness a common man would expect. You… you act the hero but you are the monster concealing its intentions behind a mask of interest. This is why I loathe you! At least be honest and tell me that you only want to take what pleasure you can get from me without care for me. I speak my truth and I abhor you. You _claimed_ me when you had no right to do such a thing! I lose my appetite when I see you. I want to avoid you even if I cannot.”

Dean was livid; absolutely brimming with fury. It was the first time he was lashing out in years, and while Aidan was fundamentally and infuriatingly wrong, the fight was almost… exhilarating. Liberating even in a way he hadn’t experienced since he lost his freedom.  He spoke his mind and argued his point in front of another human with another agenda, but who was still _listening_ to him.

Aidan flashed him a wistful smile while his eyes were intent and dark with concentration and irritation alike.

“Yet you never run from me even when opporuntiy arises. I cannot be so awful to you all the time. I said I gave up other people in my bed to keep you out of harm’s way. It wasn’t to keep you for myself but now that I have you; why not come to me to rejoice instead of simply paying a debt? I compliment your exceptional beauty since I do not have had the chance of knowing who you are because of your anger. But I heard your plea for my touch the night you were my reward. I believe that our shared night meant something to you as well. Why keep denying yourself and me that pleasure? Why do you not choose relief from hardship, Dean?”

Aidan tilted his head curiously at the end and that mocking incomprehension needled Dean.

“You simpIy don’t understand. I have no need of your damned pity! It’s not your responsibility, nor is it your place to protect me from what a body-slave is used to! You are not my hero!”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t bring myself to not step in and shield you from those brutes. I’ve found myself compelled these recent days after our night to look out for you for your welfare; not only your looks.”

“I clearly remember that I meant nothing for you but a warm body accepting your seed that night! Not that I’m unused to such duties, but don’t pretend or feel obligated to expose concern about a slave you don’t really care about.”

Aidan approached Dean with a sudden heat and argued, “Wait now. It was _you_ who callously rejected me with your sudden change in mood when you got dressed while my seed was still warm on your thighs! Why, I have no idea.”

”No, you dismissed me, remember?” Dean countered and stared up defiantly at the gladiator looming over him. “My duty was done in your cell so I found no reason to linger where I was unwanted. However I clearly now am expected to serve two masters if they wish for me. I am unfortunate to be a doubly owned slave, by Dominus, and by you.”

Dean’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Aidan yelled, “Have I not treated you with the utmost respect and kept my hands to myself?! Even if I want more, I haven’t taken anything from you that you weren’t willing to give, and you cannot convince me otherwise even if you wish to delude yourself!”

Dean stumbled backwards and found purchase against the wall while wearing an incredulous expression.

“Should I be expected to express _gratitude_ for your self-restraint?”

Aidan let out a frustrated growl and stared to pace in front of Dean.

“It’s more than that! When I’m sharing a bed with a person; I forget about my cursed life! For a moment I forget that I’m an unfree man, that I slaughter people and fight for my life for entertainment, that I was taken from my homeland and my father! Now the memories of my misfortunes plague me day and night!”

“We all have nightmares,” Dean retorted bitterly.

Aidan stepped closer and got an eager look in his feverish eyes.

“If you hide mine in a haze of pleasure, I can help you in some way. I know you find me captivating. Let me have you before my fight, please.”

If Aidan wasn’t above coaxing, he certainly wasn’t above begging, apparently. Dean couldn’t let Aidan have him. He couldn’t even _if_ he ever wanted.

So he shouted, “I can’t accommodate you, Aidan! I’m a loose pleasure-slave, aged before my time! Get that into your thick head!”

Aidan stopped midstep with creased brows.

“What do you mean by loose? I know you have no shackles around your limbs, but you’re still a slave kept inside walls like the rest of us…”

Mortified, Dean hid his face behind his hands and confessed with a barely perceivable mumble, “I mean loose inside… where you seek pleasure in men. I’m… I’m ruined. Five winters in the Roman realm being moved from villa to villa did that to me. All my owners eventually complained about that flaw. No medicus would treat me. I cannot bring anyone to release from fucking.”

Aidan asked with a thankfully equally hushed voice and aimed only questioning glances at Dean’s form now when his anger had been interrupted, “Are you sure? I mean; you seem fine to me. No trouble with shitting?”

Dean blushed hard and lowered his hands to hiss, “Of course that _activity_ works! It’s when cocks are _up_ my arse that I don’t function.”

Aidan peered at him. “I’ve heard of a few boys here in this villa who enjoyed plenty of gladiators. They seemed desirable still. Maybe it has something to do with the way a lover handles you? Have you ever tried… with yourself… I speak of using fingers to explore…”

Aidan did some obscene gestures and Dean shook his head vehemently.

“Certainly not! If you’ve been taken by near a hundred men, you’re not exactly eager to put anything up there when you have time to yourself! That’s why I thought myself blessed when I arrived to this villa and no such service was expected by me.”

Aidan bowed his head and bit his lip. “Apologies. I supposed a pleasure-slave would always perfom such duties to their Dominus and Domina. I and my brothers assumed you were working fully as a valued, talented body-slave upstairs.”

Dean snorted and looked up at the ceiling.

“Then you don’t know how cheaply Domins got me. How would you feel if you were auctioned beside elders and broken slaves, just another old, useless slave; Faustus bought me for a low sum. I was deemed worth only 7 coins.”

Aidan stared at him, astonished. “He paid 90 denarii for me.”

Hurt and jealousy punched the insides of Dean but he accepted the unequal relation between him and the Celt.

“Understandable. You’re a man with great potential; and you were trained as a gladiator. Your worth can grow and you may bring more coin to Dominus while my worth can only diminish.”

A raised hand dragged tentatively along Dean’s bare arm then, and he met Aidan’s doubting gaze.

“I don’t believe that. I can easily be maimed by mistakes, and you can learn more skills. Poetry, songs, dancing, seduction, they all make you more valuable. You wear finer clothing than I do. Faustus must have seen potential in you too, if he found reason to purchase you in the first place.”

Then Aidan leaned close and for a moment pressed his forehead lightly to Dean’s and inhaled before whispering, “Just because you’ve become wise from experiences doesn’t make you old, sun god. But I shall leave you be for now and I hope we can share word in the future, if… _when_ I return from the arena. I can only hope I earn your forgiveness and that you sometime soon dare to trust my good intentions. I never meant to be cruel that morning which made you flee from my arms. I must find sleep now. May the gods protect you in my absence, golden Dean.”

The touching of foreheads which was common amongst tribes of the free folks outside the empire felt apologizing, as if their fight was over and Aidan was admitting his own faults.  

Then Aidan withdrew from the proximity and left the room without another word. Dean found himself forlorn, staring at the retreating gladiator, enveloped in a silence that extended from the room to his voice and mind. He had to gather himself and return to where his place was so h couldn’t remain long in the pool room.

Once returned from the basement and ignored by the guard at the gate, Dean tiptoed to his bed in the slaves’ quarters and snatched one of the vials containing oil  that had been given tp him to maintain his appearance as a smooth and clean pleasure-slave.

Without waking up any of the slaves, he sneaked out and made his way to their latrine but the reason why his belly fluttered wasn't caused by food but by thoughts. The hour was very late when Dean locked himself inside and began exploring himself under his tunic like Aidan had suggested.

He went through the beginning motions that he knew by heart from his education. However, instead of only smearing oil around his crotch and the immediate surface of his hole, he pushed further this time.

The etheric oil enabled him to dip a finger far inside after stimulating the entrance with furtive rubs of the pads of two fingers until the furled hole could be coaxed into blooming and accepting further intrusion.

Dean struggled to move his wriggling finger but his body answered with distinct stings that surprised him. He was tight; clenching and narrow.

As if he hadn’t been touched, which was true for a month, but even so; Dean had been convinced that his previous owners had left an eternal, embarassing mark inside him. Yet here he stood hunched; having to actually stretch himself in order to take two fingers.

A delighted laugh came from his mouth and Dean happily continued his exploration of the tautness inside his hole. It had been a long time since he stretched himself like this and he had forgotten the pleasure he could get out of it. A sheen broke out over his skin from the exertion and Dean braced himself against the wall.

Not before long, he was panting while thrusting fingers into his hot, sensitive, slippery passage and feeling every bit of it. He sought out the pleasurable spot deep inside and crooked his fingers to reach it.

A flash sparkled through him and with it came thunder in the form of shudders tearing though his body with delicious agony of want.

His cock awakened to the stimulation and Dean knew he should stop and return to his bed. He should be asleep at this hour. But he couldn’t stop his hand from moving and the other one from reaching for his inflamed shaft.

As goodness filled his body and dazed his mind, Dean sent a grateful thought to Aidan for mentioning this. The help the gladiator had provided changed into a focus on what other things Aidan was providing Dean with whenever he came into Dean’s sight.

Dean fixed his mind greedily on the stature of the powerful Celt; his dark hair and fur all over his body that spoke of not complete Roman domination, his bronzed back and large shoulders. The brown eyes that followed Dean, and the smile that graced his face when a frown didn’t take its place.

To his surprise, Dean managed to bring himself off to the thoughts of Aidan despite the gladiator’s frustrating traits.

He muffled his moan when he spilled into his hand and took his time composing himself. He cleaned himself on a cloth that went into the latrine and shifted his tunic back down over his hips.

Upon skimming his hands over his bottom he suddenly grew cold and nibbled on his lip uncertainly. What if the tightness depended on how often he had something there? And now, several months after his last coupling with his previous master, he had loosened himself again.

Dean regretted his deed and could only pray that Faustus or Domina didn’t need him for those duties any time soon.

He vowed to himself to abstain and not touch himself too often and aggravate the damage in his body. That was his worth and he couldn’t sabotage it even if it had felt nice.

At least he  could remember the pleasure and he wanted to tell Aidan that he had been right about this, that Dean wasn’t a wasted body-slave with a limited worth. Perhaps Aidan could suggest other things, since he ironically seemed to know more about the body-slave’s body than the slave himself.

And so, Dean found himself strangely enough actually hoping that Aidan would survive the arena and return to the villa unharmed so that they may speak. So that they may meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's FYI: One gradus means one step as a measurement of the water in the pool, or according to Wiki nearly 2,5 ft or 0.75m. Augur is a sort of priest who can tell the future from the way birds fly etc.


	9. Realizations

The Celt watched dispassionately as beasts from the most southern provinces joined strength and attacked a screaming man in the arena to the roar of the crowd. The noise of cheering couldn’t drown out the sounds of lions ripping a body into smaller, dying parts.

The crowd seemed to share the victory of the lions for the way they shouted as if to urge on the beasts in the carnage.

Aidan couldn’t see the audience from his position below the stands in a tunnel end with sturdy bars in the gate, but he had nearly full view of the arena and his eyes took in the scene.

A droplet of sweat sneaked from his nape and itched against the edge of his moist leather pauldron strapped over his shoulder blades. Aidan sniffed in the hot air and shifted to lean on one arm and rest as much of his body as possible while standing up.

It was stifling to stay in the large construction below the stands where the breeze would ease the condition for the audience and great fabrics could be moved to cover them on particularly hot days.

Since the bottom of the arena was placed upon the ground and contained many hundreds of working men, the tunnels and the labyrinth below were much hotter than the gladiators’ quarters that had been dug out in the basement of Faustus’ villa and thus protected the level from the shining sun’s warmth.

Aidan knew that the moment the current bloodbath was over upon the sand, it would be time to present proper games to the expectant plebs, and the patricians on their finer balcony. He was prepared to represent the house of Faustus out there.

He always chose to stand and watch the previous carnage or duel; not out of interest for the horrors but for strategy. Instead of sitting idle on the benches down along the walls of the tunnel, maybe staring at the weapons in his hands and adjusting straps and grips and thus getting more and more anxious, Aidan preferred standing up and gazing out.

It would help his body when he had to coax into frenzy if he was already active, and his eyes adjusted easier to the bright sunshine on the light sand and the white stones in the amphitheatre if he had previously looked at it instead of squinting in the gloom.

Naturally, he never spoke of his clever strategy to anyone, lest others took after him and could challenge him if they met in the arena.

Aidan shuddered at the bloodbath after the poor soul had stopped screaming. Even his own folk didn’t carry out such severe or slow punishments as the Romans did, mostly for sport and waging anyway. Some gladiators considered it an honor to represent their masters’ ludus and die for it perchance. Aidan wasn’t amongst them.

Doctore came up to him.  The experienced man eyed Aidan’s form from feet to head and seemed to deem him ready for fighting. Aidan had wrapped his usual leather kilt around his hips, the sandals were tied high up on his legs, the front of his long hair was tied back to not hinder his sight. His sharp gladius and oval cetratus shield rested against the wall at his feet.

“It’s you who are to enter the arena next, Aidan.”

“Gratitude for reminding me, Doctore.”

Doctore gave him a wry smile at the obviously focused gladiator.

“You know the expectations the ludus has placed upon your shoulders. Prove your valour out there.”

Aidan answered obediently, “I will bring honour to Dominus.”

That had Doctore stepping closer and murmuring, “I bring words from Dominus. The man you are to meet fights in the position of murmillo. He will be heavier than you, but also more protected.”

That had Aidan rattled, and he had to search for a new strategy. Aidan would have to get close to get to his opponent to find weak spots between the covering helmet, the large Roman shield, and the large guards on one arm and one leg. Thus he would be risking his own life. He would have to be ever so light on his feet and use that skill to his advantage, and hopefully tire out the murmillo quickly without having the crowd losing patience over a boring, cowardly dance.

Doctore warned, “Do not underestimate him. Don’t get tired. The odds are balanced, perhaps a little in his favour so Neapolis will talk of you if you win this fight.”

Aidan picked up the gladius and raised his hand to rub his knuckles against his itching, damp stubble.

“If I take him down, will I make a name of myself to the citizens of the city? Truly?”

“It will be hard, I will not deny that, but success in the arena will bring success outside it. I believe it’s time for you to rise, Aidan.”

“Rise how far, exactly?”

“To the heights where champions reside and gods look upon them with fortune.”

Aidan stared at the older man. “Am I approaching the title of champion? Can there be two champions in the same city? Even in the same ludus?” He thought about how Taurus would react if his Celtic brother was to share the title with him soon.

Doctore stated seriously, “At least for a while. To compete against established champions is hard and the fights take place not only in the arena. But as long as you win the crowd, you win fame, and that’s far more important than squabbling brothers.”

Filled with pride at his own accomplishments, and eager for playing with a murmillo, Aidan lifted the shield and turned to the gate.

A tuba sounded across the arena, almost like a horn from Aidan’s homeland, and Aidan turned saw that slaves had moved away the body and were busy brushing sand over the blood to hide the remaining sign that a man had been killed by lions.

A noble patrician, no doubt, began to shout from the balcony to introduce the next fight. Doctore gave Aidan a rough pat on his back.

“Come back to us victorious.”

Aidan nodded and watched how a pair of slaves made their way over to his gate to open it, while another pair ventured to the opposite gate to let out the other gladiator. Aidan gathered his shield and sword closer to the body and wondered about his nod. Come back to whom?

To Faustus who he had promised loyalty and coins by earning victory after victory, in exchange for a chance to be set free in the future? To his petty brothers who all fought amongst themselves to climb to the top in the ludus and kick at anyone attempting to challenge them? Or to Dean; his claimed boy, or rather man, who seemed so unattainable and yet drawn to Aidan.

Aidan recalled his face last night, when Dean had raged at him in their procured solitude. When he let go of his trained obedience, Dean wore so many emotions in his expressions that Aidan felt taken aback.

He realized somewhat foolishly late that however educated and skilled in servicing Romans, Dean wasn’t a civilized slave through and through, if provoked into opening up. There burned a fire deep down in him, often hidden, that spoke of conquered lands, robbed freedom, and humiliated people.

Aidan reckognized those things in the other barbarian from the lands east of the Rhine, because he himself had experienced invading Romans. Something about Dean told him that there could be kinship between them; both northeners who recently had had their lands occupied, and still longed for their stolen liberty.

Perhaps that had been why Aidan had said that they needed to continue the conversation after the games. Aidan sniffed and stretched his arms down and tossed his head back as nerves immediately before the fight filled him with the want to live, to survive out there. He knew he was unhinged.

Usually he had had had someone days before a fight, but now nightmares had been plaguing his sleep for many nights. This time he hadn’t been able to chase away the anguish with fucking when he received no pleasure from the golden-haired man.

However, Aidan was headstrong, and would not let mere lack of intimacy stand in the way of success upon the sand. After all, Faustus believed in keeping his gladiators hungry for touch before games, like the beasts were kept hungry before being let loose to tear men apart.

Perhaps Aidan could use this strong want in him to his advantage, and win the combat in a spectacular way and return to speak to Dean. They weren’t finished with each other. And any promise Aidan gave to a person, he intended to keep.

Aidan’s ears protested when the gate swung open with a squeak and then he walked into the circle of excited screams to fight for his life.

***

Dean thought the villa empty when Faustus, Doctore, the chosen gladiators, and a few guards had left that morning to attend the games in the arena of Neapolis.

The other gladiators were locked inside the cellar and watched by other guards, to sit idly and envious of their brothers who would face the people of Neapolis and earn coins and fame.

Dean was the selected house-slave to attend Domina’s gathering with her friends.

He stood by the table brimming with food and drinks, ready to serve the women who reclined on klinai arranged in a crude circle in the triclinium room for gatherings. He had to be attentive of their conversation and motions in case someone wanted his service, without looking like he was listening in on them.

Anyway, the wives of patricians spoke of nothing important. Currently the subject was gossip about a girl’s imminent wedding.

“Will we see you on the wedding day in the house of Marcellus, Cornelia?” one woman asked.

Domina may lie down, but she was still anything but relaxed. She retorted icily, “The house of Faustus has yet to receive invitation.”

The others stared and smirks gleamed with malice before Domina waved them off with a hand wearing many rings.

“It matters not. My husband is busy elsewhere, securing our prosperity. He is awaiting a ship that will arrive to the port sometime when Aemilia is to be wedded and so, I shall be by his side, to judge the silk from Parthia with my own eyes and hands before the seamstress gets it.”

The others straightened on the luxurious pillows and made impressed sounds.

Cornelia added lightly, “Besides; what is a wedding when the bride is as far from being a virgin as a seasoned centurion?”

Most of the women began to snicker with delight. Spurred on by their reaction, Domina continued telling them secrets.

“Are you aware that while Aemilia’s family will bring a mighty dowry of mirrors and jewels to the house of Marcellus and a goat for sacrifice to the gods in the ceremony, _she_ will not bring the gift of virginity to her husband.”

“That slut! I knew she stared too much at that dirty blacksmith in the market. Still, he is rather tempting with his body shaped like the statue of Vulcanus,” one black-haired woman gasped and slapped her knee with joy.

Cornelia seemed mighty pleased to have avoided her own shame at being denied an invitation, and to have ruined the bride’s reputation as an untouched woman.

What a distasteful behaviour, Dean thought, but said nothing when he lifted the now empty plate with seeds and juice and replaced it with fresh fruits and nuts.

One of the women looked shy and didn’t laugh like the others.

She let out softly, “It is wrong if what you say is true, Cornelia. I believe that pleb is married. I say duty lies on wife _and_ husband both to devote themselves to only each other in marriage to not insult the gods and their good name. It is a pity if Aemilia truly has ruined herself. However, I cannot accept your comment about the... experience of centurions. Even if time and circumstances separates a couple, they must only have each other. Cassius would never touch any other woman but me.”

Cornelia rolled her eys at the young woman who had spoken.

“Your faith brings honour to your house, Julia. To have faith in gods and husband alike is a virtue the rest of us can only strive to achieve. I’m certain your Cassius is different from other centurions who take what pleases them in the north.”

Julia sat up straight and cried out in a tantrum, “Shame on you, Cornelia! Those men are commanding the legions for years, never complaining about the absence from their wives’ beds while they protect the frontier of the empire against filthy, invading barbarians. I’m proud to be the wife of a brave centurion that Caesar himself will soon send gratitude to. What is bought silk next to words from our emperor?”

The rest of the women winced at the offense when Julia compared Faustus’ feat to her own husband’s.

Meanwhile, Dean pitied the young woman for truly believeing that her husband was faithful in the north when Dean had witnessed the honourable commanders falling into muck in eagerness to take land, lives, and carnal pleasure from the barbarians.

Cornelia however revelled in the vibrating silence after the outburst. The other women watched with bated breaths when she took a sip of the spiced wine before placing the cup on the spindly table in front of her and tangling her hand in her luscious curls that once belonged to a blonde slave.

“I assume you are unused to company nowadays, sweet Julia, and that is why you behave like this. You must be lonely in Cassius villa without being able to host festivities and receive male guests in your husband’s absence. I can only shudder if I imagine myself in your place; husband gone for years, sparse letters, and only the words of a grateful emperor to warm you in your empty bed at night. But perhaps solitude is what you want? At least I have a man to comfort me at all times.”

Julia blanched and her face shattered when Domina drove in nail after nail through her fragile, long untouched heart. Faced with the veiled threat of being even more isolated if no woman in Neapolis invited her for receptions, the poor girl could only submit.

“Forgive me, Cornelia. My words were toxic from inebriation of too much wine. Of course all men serve Rome, albeit in different ways. Trading is as vital as war. Cassius would not be pleased with me for insulting old friends.”

“Your centurion does sound like a formidable, wise man. I should like to invite him here one day when he is returned to your side. I’ll pray for you that he doesn’t fall before he reaches your arms again,” Domina said with tremulous, faithful voice that didn’t fool anyone in the room.

She was sending yet another nail through Julia’s heart and the girl must bear it without further protest. She had to uphold the good name of her house in the society of patricians while her husband was away.

“Gratitude,” Julia murmured with ashen cheeks, then quickly bid farewell to the gathered women who clearly approved of Cornelia’s methods.

Dean didn’t listen intensely to the rest of their gossip, only waited for more orders from the vile snakes with stolen hair and jewelry from occupied mines. Instead he contained sighs and allowed his thoughts to drift slightly to Aidan.

The fervour in the Celt's voice as he all but vowed to come back to the ludus regardless of the threat in the arena made Dean feel no doubt that Aidan would succeed, survive and return so seek him out. He simply couldn't be bleeding out with his body sacrificed for the purchased abundance of food these women were snacking on.

Aidan must surely fight as stubbornly and ferociously as he chased house-slaves.

But now it looked like Aidan was only intent on him and no-one else. Aidan had been kind when he had offered guidance and taught Dean that his arse could get tight after being loosened by a Roman.

Dean had to tell Aidan of how he had helped him finding peace and hope. No Roman had yet ruined him beyond the point of healing. He may be a cheap body-slave, but he wasn’t old and broken.

It would take but a few hours before the games ended and Faustus would bring home the reward of wagers, the cart with the weapons, and the gladiators who, by the mercy of the gods, wouldn’t spill their lives upon the dusty sand.

At least Dean wished for Aidan to be fine and whole when returning, so he could seek Dean out again and hear about Dean’s progress.

“Cornelia, why is your slave smiling?”

Dean startled when four pairs of eyes looked at him and he almost dropped the plate with dates from nervousness.

Cornelia sent a warning glare at him to behave perfectly before she informed the others, “Dean is an educated pleasure-slave. He knows how pleasing he is at feasts and gatherings when he smiles, like a beautiful flower to further adorn the room in which we lie. He means a lot to me, and was a gift from Faustus. I always berate him for spending too much coins on me, but he continues to spoil me.”

“Dean? Such a foreign name. I can’t understand why the house of Fautus allows the slaves to keep their names instead of giving them suitable Roman ones.”

“Faustus and I find that they are keener to listen and act when called by their old names.”

“He is pretty anyway, I give you that,” one woman said dreamily and leaned her chin on her hand while appraising Dean and at the same time giving him an unnecessarily large view of her breasts resting in the folds of her dress.

“That slave is attending to me every day, but does not serve me like my husband does every night. I have no need for looking at another naked man when I have Faustus.”

“Pity, I say. He must be very talented with skills unknown to Rome. His hair looks like yours today, Cornelia. Was it his..?”

“No, Dean came to us with little hair due to previous owners. I ordered him to let it grow out now and be a beautiful boy. He is from Germania but has more knowledge now of Roman customs than horrible barbaric traditions. His previous life is behind him, and he enjoys serving civilized women. Do you not, Dean?”

“Yes, Domina, very much,” Dean admitted quietly and with a bowed head. He offered a small smile so he looked as happy and obedient as Domina claimed he was.

He hated being the object of discussion and glances amongst Romans, but knew that trembling hands and restless legs would only make him look more vulnerable and afraid.

Soon the ladies changed the subject and Dean could dwell by a pillar. Sometimes it was easier to face brutes like Britannic gladiators than spiteful wives of patricians who could end his life and fortune with the wave of a ringed finger.

He had passed the test this time. He looked at the shine from the sun upon the surrounding walls and tried to tell the time until Faustus would be back with Aidan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been long. Sorry for that. I hope you enjoy this.  
> This chapter's FYI: The triclinia was the dining room with chaise lounges that we usually see in movies and series about Ancient Rome. 
> 
> Vulcanus, or Hephaestus as the Greeks called him, was the god of fire and smithery.
> 
> The dowry from the bride's family would become the husband's property after the wedding and often consisted of mirrors and jewelry to make the women more beautiful. The chastity and virginity of a promised bride was very important to patricians, and a bad reputation could be devastating and stop a wedding from taking place.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my own awesome collage for this story on my tumblr: sycamoretree21.tumblr.com
> 
> I'm doing some heavy research for this one, as usual, so expect a pretty accurate picture of Roman life but forgive me any mistakes or liberties, please. I'm leaning heavily on the tv show Spartacus: Blood and Sand. Dean looks like a mix between his characters in Hercules, Legend of the Seeker, and Almighty Johnsons with short hair and shaved face in the end. Aidan is a Celt, living when Hadrian’s wall was erected. Aidan's hair is kept wild, sometimes with a few braids or two strands pulled back and joined; so basically a mix between natural Aidan and intense Mitchell. 
> 
> This chapter's FYI: Florentia is the ancient city of today's Florence. Hadrian's Wall was built between 122 and 128 and Aidan and the tribes in the rebellion obviously lived north of the wall at the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> There will be more dialogue in the next chapter. Please give me comment to let me know what you think.


End file.
